


Surprises and Starts

by Birdie (Robin_Mask)



Series: Surprises and Starts [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Arguing, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Cesarean Section, Discussion of Abortion, Family Drama, Foreplay, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced miscarriage, M/M, Magic, Male Slash, Medical Procedures, Mpreg, Parent-Child Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexuality Crisis, Swearing, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Birdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter knew it was impossible. </p><p>It wasn't possible for a male to be pregnant, let alone a single male. </p><p>It wasn't possible for Wade to be the father, no matter how close their friendship was, and it wasn't possible for it to happen at a worse time, when his career as a photographer was on the line. He knew that he couldn't keep this child - an impossible child in an impossible situation - and yet he would need time to make a decision . . . </p><p>Spider-Man had a responsibility to the people of the city. </p><p>Peter had a responsibility to the life inside him . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

#    
Chapter One

“Wade! You mother-hugging -”

“Hey, Petey! Good to see you! How long has it –?”

Peter struck without thinking. The sheer rage he felt was inconceivable, beyond anything that he felt in his entire lifetime, and the sheer _violation_ he experienced only added to all those negative feelings that strove to break loose. It was enough to make his blood boil, so that every breath he took threatened to turn into a hyperventilating panic. There was a sweat across his body that caused the material beneath his armpits to turn into a dark stain, whilst his lips felt white from how tightly he pursed them, and his hands trembled . . .

He barely felt the moment he struck Wade – almost as if he were outside his body and watching someone else commit the deed – and so it provided no real relief, almost like the time when he beat Wade for his perceived hit on an old friend. It was done solely out of a need to do _something_ , to get some sort of _justice_ , but it couldn’t turn back time and it certainly couldn’t make him any less angry at Wade for any of this! Peter glanced down at his hand and winced when he saw blood. It was dusted across his knuckles, almost beautiful in its pattern, but the fact that he bruised his skin and cut Wade’s jaw . . . it made him feel sick.

“What the fuck, Petey? What’s got into you?”

“Oh, like you don’t frigging _know_ , Wade! Just tell me why. _Why_?”

“‘Why’ what?” Wade stood up shakily. “What did I do?”

Peter let out an inhuman cry. He marched forward to strike Wade again, but the older man dove behind a kitchen counter and began a childish game of back-and-forth. If Peter would try to step around to the right, Wade would move to his right at his end, meaning that they were simply _circling_ one another pointlessly! Peter paused to grip the counter and looked down with a stern gaze. No, he wouldn’t jump the counter. He _couldn’t_ jump the counter. It was too much of a risk, plus there was no point . . .

It was hard to stay calm, but he managed to draw in a long and slow breath. He knew that if he could do it just once, he could do it again, and so he exhaled and drew in another deep breath. There was an oddly calming effect about simply controlling his breathing, so that he could feel his rapid heartbeat slowing down to a less audible and painful speed, whilst his hands – whitening with the pressure of his grip – began to regain composure, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment to centre himself in the midst of this madness. He opened his eyes slowly, but the light in the kitchen was bright and caused him to wince in pain.

He waited for a few seconds to regain his self-control, as well as to let his blue eyes adjust, and – eventually – he looked upon Wade with morbid curiosity. It seemed that his best friend looked every bit as pissed as Peter felt, which was a joke considering this was his fault, but he stood silently enough so as _not_ to make Peter want to punch him again. The wound on his chin was already healing, whilst the pout to his lips made him look incredibly childish.

“Are you mad that I’m crashing here?” Wade asked.

“Do I _look_ mad that you’re crashing here?” Peter snapped back.

“Actually, yeah, you do! Your hair is all mussed up, but not in that cute Andrew Garfield way. It’s just all . . . messy . . . ha, like bed-head! I wouldn’t mind seeing your bed-head actually, because I bet you’d be so gorgeous in the morning all sweaty and sticky and smelly! Hey, smelly isn’t a bad thing! Like a good smelly! Not that I’d want to smell you, because – duh – morning breath, but you know what I mean, right?”

“Wade, I swear to God -! If this is just because I wouldn’t go out with you on a date -! Oh heck, is that what this is about? Did you do this to get back at me because I wouldn’t _date_ you? I – I told you that I’m _straight_! You – you can’t do something like _this_ because –”

“Aw, you’re so hot when you’re angry, Petey!”

“ _You’re so dead!”_

Peter forgot his sense of safety. He lifted a leg to climb onto the counter, before he dived across the kitchen in one leap, but – unfortunately – Wade held reflexes just as quick from his almost excessive workout routine. The sudden landing on the tiled floor sent a jolt through his body, which made his muscles ache and his body feel heavier than he liked, but he ignored it to turn and advance on Wade. He felt his legs feel tight and strained, whilst his back felt as if it were being stabbed with needles, and he gave a hissed breath of anger.

“Wrong, I’m so Dead _pool_ ,” teased Wade. “Get it right!”

“I let you use my apartment in Stark Tower,” said Peter. “I let you see my face. I told you my identity. I thought -! I thought we were _friends_ of all things! I don’t know how you did this, Wade, but you _will_ fix this right now! Make it go away!”

“Make what go away, baby boy?”

“The – the baby . . .”

Wade was now pressed firmly against a far wall. The hood of his top fell to cast his face in shadow, whilst his t-shirt underneath bore his personalised ‘logo’, and even as he kept his head low – still nervous about showing his naked face before Peter – he somehow drew himself up to almost impressive heights. He didn’t quite tower over the younger man, but even hunched over he looked _down_ at Peter, which was enough to make him feel somewhat intimidated when he knew just how strong Wade could be when provoked.

The rain outside hit the windowpanes strongly, enough that it was almost deafening in an apartment that was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and it cast an eerie light inside where the light would be distorted from the trickling water outside. It likely cast Peter in a strange shadow, not least because his uniform clung to him from how it soaked in the water, and he felt cold and chilled to his bones, which – he would admit – was likely the worst thing that he could feel at a time like that. He had a healing factor, but it wasn’t as strong as Wade’s by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn’t fight off a cold before it began. Peter drew in a staggered breath and ran a gloved hand through his wet hair, which drew a dark and curious look from Wade, as if he wondered what Peter would do next.

The chill was made all the worse by the draught, as – far to the right in the living room – the window was left wide open from where Peter entered. There was water trickling down the inside of the glass, from how the wind blew in the rain, whilst on the carpet below there sat a puddle of water that slowly expanded across the floor. It was bad enough that there was now water damage, but there were also crumbs and papers and garbage across the coffee table between the sofa and television. Wade truly made himself at home. It just added to the sense of betrayal, because _this_ was how Wade repaid him for his hospitality?

They stood facing one another for a long moment. Peter instinctively put his hand to his stomach, before he pulled it away with a disgusted grimace, because for such a thing to be ‘instinct’ felt beyond unnatural. He shook his head and took a step back. There were so many feelings coursing through him, all of which agonisingly negative and strong . . . anger, fear and disgust . . . they all boiled up inside of him, until he felt barely human any longer, until he hated himself for feeling so unlike his usual self. It was unfair.

“Who’s pregnant?” Wade asked. “Did I knock someone up?”

“Yeah, although don’t ask me _how_. _I’m_ pregnant.”

Wade blinked a few times, before he cast a look to Peter’s stomach. There was admittedly a slight swelling, enough that it was almost noticeable when you looked close enough, especially in his skin-tight suit, but it was hardly to the extent that anyone would _know_ just by looking at him that he was . . . well . . . ‘with child’. Peter drew in a sharp breath at the thought, as he felt a wave of dizziness overtake him at the surprise and horror that he felt, because this surely couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t!

It was then that Wade let out an overwhelmingly loud laugh.

“It’s not funny, Wade,” Peter screamed.

“Dude, how is it _not_ funny?” Wade clutched his stomach with the laughter. “You’ve turned me down like – what – a million times now? Hell, I’ve _tried_ sneaking into your bed at night, but you kicked me out every single time! Even if you weren’t – you know, like – a dude and everything . . . we’ve never even made the beast with two backs! Oh, believe _me_ , sweetums, I’d have remembered it you took a dip in this ‘pool!”

“I know I’m a freaking ‘dude’, Wade! It’s kind of popped up in the past, especially since _puberty_ , then it didn’t _stop_ ‘popping up’! I also _know_ we haven’t had sex! I also _know_ this all sounds insane, but – ugh! – I’m pregnant. Okay? I’m freaking pregnant!”

“Okay, okay! You’re ‘pregnant’.” Wade used the air-quotes. “How’d you know?”

“What do you mean ‘how do I know’?”

Wade gave a shrug and leaned forward. He kept his hands in his pocket, but tilted his head upwards as he bent forward at a strange angle, and his brown eyes gazed up at Peter with an almost clinical detachment. It was clear that he was angry, but his practical hero-worship of Peter prevented him from getting violent or taking any action, and yet there was something almost akin to _pity_ there, too. He didn’t believe Peter. It was a realisation that pissed Peter off immensely, because what did he stand to gain from lying?

“How do you know?” Wade asked again.

“ _That’s_ your question? Not how I _am_ , but how I _know_?”

“That’s implied, Petey! Look, I’ve caught you naked. We traded costumes, didn’t we? I might have been a good enough guy not to sneak a peak at your face, but I got a good eyeful of all your Petey-parts! Better equipped than Cable, that’s for sure!”

“I – I don’t _know_ the ‘how’ yet,” Peter snapped. “Look, I just know that I’ve been really nauseous for weeks now, plus my muscles keep aching and I’ve been really tired. I mentioned it to Tony, so he sent me to Bruce, but – guess what? – Bruce couldn’t work out what was wrong with me. So he ran some tests . . . just blood and urine, really . . . they came back saying that I was pregnant, but Pepper was having some tests, too, so –”

“Duh, he got your tests mixed up! Hey, I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid!”

“Pepper’s menopausal and isn’t sexually active.”

“Too much info!”

Wade placed his hands over his ears. It was childish and that only annoyed Peter all the more, because – by God – he _needed_ to talk to someone about this, because he _needed_ to make a frank choice about what to do next. A part of him knew that he could talk to Bruce about it all, but if he chose to go through with it . . . he would need then to talk to Wade, because then Wade would be a part of it. It was all just so _insane_. Peter shook his head and reached out to take a hold of both Wade’s wrists, before he yanked his hands away.

The skin felt rough and dry beneath his hands, with a strange mixture of wetness in places, and – as much as he didn’t _want_ to sympathise when he was so angry – he felt awful that Wade was forced to endure weeping wounds and bad sores over his skin. Peter wondered for a moment whether their child would have that same healing factor, before he remembered that this _child_ shouldn’t even exist . . . it had been forced on him . . . he shouldn’t even _care_ what would happen to it, because it would be gone as soon as he could figure out how to _fix_ it all. He just needed to know _why_ Wade did this and _how_.

“Bruce tested us both again,” said Peter. “To be sure.”

“How’d you know he didn’t get the tests mixed up again?”

“Because Pepper went to a private _hospital_ at the same time. They said she had a clean bill of health, which Bruce’s tests said, too, but as for mine? Like I said: pregnant. They daren’t send me to anyone else for a second opinion, because a pregnant man -? Bruce said that one of the X-Men is qualified to run the tests, but I came straight here as soon as he confirmed it.”

“So why come looking for me? I didn’t go licking the chocolate channel!”

“You’re disgusting! Don’t talk about it like that!”

“ _Fine_. We didn’t exactly _make love_ , did we?”

“I – I know that, Wade!”

Peter ran a hand over his face in despair. It just didn’t make _sense_! Still, he couldn’t deny the symptoms or the test results, just as he couldn’t deny the firm and round bulge or the strange fluttering he felt inside, like a butterfly trying to escape from within him. The last sexual relationship he had been with Mary Jane, but that was over a year ago, whilst before that there was only Gwen and she passed away years ago . . . this should have been impossible for so many reasons. He was a medical marvel, but all those reasons were bad.

He marched over to the window, before he used the rod just to the side to push it closed, as it was far too high to reach and he knew that he couldn’t jump about in his condition. Peter flinched and raised a hand to his temple. _His condition_. What was his condition? The only reason that he turned to Bruce for help was due to his illness, which made swinging about the city impossible without feeling the bile rise to the back of his throat, and the aches were always so much worse lately. He heard the news and refused to believe it. He heard the news again and had no choice _but_ to believe it, which led to him scaling the building in a rage to reach his apartment . . . there were still too few answers.

Peter shook his head to try and clear the thoughts, before he walked slowly over to the sofa and collapsed down upon the leather. The material felt cold, even through his suit, and he could hear the crunch of crisps and biscuits beneath him as he sat . . . it was too much of a reminder that this was _Wade’s_ space, just as that they were far closer than he would ever have wished. He dropped his elbows onto his knees; he let his head drop into his hands, as he gazed down at the floor and tried to regain a sense of self and confidence. It was difficult to know what to say, because anything he said would be a joke.

“You kissed me a few months ago,” said Peter.

There was a sound of a snort across the room. Wade walked over, as he dragged his feet along the floor and made frustrating scraping noises as he moved, and eventually he threw himself into an armchair and let one leg drape over the arm, whilst the other dangled to touch lightly on the carpet. Peter looked up to see Wade roll his eyes, which forced him to clench his hands tight and try to refrain from getting up to punch him for such disregard.

“So mouth sex equals an ass-baby?” Wade asked.

“This isn’t -!” Peter bit his lip enough to taste blood. “I don’t even _know_ how this – this – this _thing_ is going to come out! Bruce won’t do an x-ray, but he says I can have an ultrasound whenever I’m ready and we can get a better idea then, but -! How did you _do_ it, Wade?”

“Fuck you, Petey! You think I drugged you and used you or something?”

“No. God, no! I just – you did _something_ , though!”

There was a moment between them that was beyond awkward. The accusation lay heavy in the air and couldn’t be taken back, whilst there was a silence as neither one dared to speak and yet every noise somehow seemed amplified at the same time. He could hear every hiss of breath from the other man, just as he could hear the rustle of fabric and the pouring of rainwater on the window outside, and even his heart seemed to echo loudly in his ears. Wade broke the strange quiet with a very dismissive and childish:

“I didn’t do nothing! Are you a doctor? No. No, you’re not.”

“I don’t _need_ to be a doctor to know this is your fault!” Peter screamed. “Look, Bruce guesses that I’m around twelve weeks pregnant, just because – with women anyway – that’s when morning sickness tends to kick in, plus that was around the time of –”

“The kiss? You barely kissed me back when you –”

“I _didn’t_ kiss you back, at all!”

“Oh, I felt tongue!”

Peter drew in a sharp breath. It was easy to remember letting Wade stay in his apartment, just as he could remember helping him to set up the spare suite, and he could equally remember turning around only to have the ex-mercenary embrace him and kiss him without his consent. There was something so shocking about being kissed seemingly at random, which caused him to freeze and stopped him from reacting, but – for a brief moment after – he _reacted_ and it took a long moment to push Wade away again, before they awkwardly promised each other never to mention it again. Wade didn’t mean to offend. Peter couldn’t reciprocate.

He hated that Wade could use something so _pathetic_ to try and change topic, as if it changed anything that was happening or made the situation any less serious. It was hard not to storm out and harder still to look at Wade and _not_ feel the urge to beat him senseless for what was _clearly_ his fault. Peter tasted iron and felt a painful throb to his lips.

“Anyway,” Peter snapped. “That was twelve weeks ago, about the time this thing was supposedly conceived . . . the last time I was with MJ was over a year ago, but I’ve not been with anyone since, plus I’m a man! You _know_ I’m a man, but . . . didn’t you say you were working with Strange around that time? You blew up your freaking apartment! I mean, maybe a spell went wrong or something? Strange is pretty good, but maybe you . . .?”

“My apartment blew up because the stupid book was broke! It’s not _my_ fault that gasoline is so flammable! If the book didn’t piss me off, I wouldn’t have tried to make it go away! I thought you let me stay here because you were my _friend_ , I don’t have to take this! I could go crash with Al! That blind bat won’t mind one bit!”

“Wait, you’re joking, aren’t you?” Peter gave Wade a hard glare. “You tried to set fire to a book? You didn’t tell me that! You just said that a fire happened and Strange appeared to put the flames out! What the heck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! He just wanted his book back!”

“ _What did you do?_ You told me that your apartment caught on fire during an incident with Strange, you didn’t say -! You took a book belonging to _Strange_ and tried to _burn_ it? What book was it? If we contact Strange, can he maybe fix all of this?”

“What? Huh, I doubt it! Magic’s nothing to do with your craziness, baby boy! I’m telling you, you can’t be pregnant, because you’re a guy! It’d be like taking Bob to the doctor instead of the vet . . . just doesn’t make sense! I was just _borrowing_ Dumbledore’s book for a while, that’s all! That guy that works for him said the book was all-magical and stuff, that there was a spell that would protect a child or something . . . I just wanted to protect Ellie.”

The anger was impossible to hold back.

Peter stood to his feet and ran a hand over his face, before he held onto his chin and shook his head back and forth, but the senseless shaking did very little to alleviate the frustration that he felt. He began to pace. The movement somehow provided him with enough distraction to burn the excess energy, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from clenching and unclenching his hands and staring furiously at the floor. This was all so – so wrong! Wade always acted with the ‘best’ intentions, but inevitably he acted short-sightedly and then this -!

“So you _stole_ a magical book and _cast_ a spell?”

“I read the words.” Wade said. “Does that count? It was in Latin or something.”

“So you have _no_ idea what spell you actually cast? You cast a spell and it could be _anything_!”

Peter stopped pacing in front of Wade. He stood so close that his foot was pressed against Wade’s, enough that he could feel the line of the other’s foot through his boot, and every fidgeting movement of Wade was felt clear as day. There was a heat from the other man; his leg was not far from Peter’s, whilst his eyes were now on eye-level with Peter’s crotch and stomach, and there was just something so intimate and vulnerable about their position. He wanted Wade to stand up. He wanted a chance for a fair fight!

They spent a strange amount of time looking at each other, but not truly seeing one another. It was clear that Wade was focussed entirely upon Peter’s stomach, as if he sought to see past the layer of skin to the child that lay beneath, and meanwhile Peter watched Wade’s eyes for every crinkle and narrowing and dilation, desperate to catch a single lie or tell. Peter swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat that wouldn’t quite leave, which made it clear that the tears wouldn’t be far behind unless he did something about that, but he hadn’t felt this helpless since his uncle’s death . . . now there was no one to confide and ask for advice.

“Strange saved the book,” Wade said. “Why not ask him?”

“I will, Wade, don’t think I won’t! You cast a random spell about a child, kissed me, then tried to _destroy_ the book that Strange _took away_? If this is real . . . if you’ve done this to me . . . I’m ripping your autographed photograph of Bea Arthur to shreds, I swear it!”

“You’re not freaking pregnant! If you are, it’s not fucking mine!”

“You cast the spell! You kissed me! You!”

“Fuck you, it’s not mine.”

Peter let out a blood-curdling scream of rage. It was enough to make Wade wince and look up in something close to concern, but Peter ignored it to bring his foot down onto the glass coffee-table. The top shattered at such a volume that it hurt his ears to hear, whilst the shards scattered across the floor and cast the carpet in a silvery layer of glass, and – when he looked down – he saw that there were a few cuts in his boots and a few trickles of blood. He ignored the pain in order to walk over to the sofa and gently lower himself onto the cushion, where he ignored the loud ‘ _what the fuck’_ of Wade and tried to ignore the following ranting, too.

The older man stood up and waved his arms almost manically at the broken table, and then began to swear over and over in a way that would make a sailor blush with shame. He looked to Peter with a face drawn so tightly in fury that he seemed ready to draw a weapon, enough that Peter almost believed he might attack at any second, but he must have seen the same expression on Peter . . . both men respected each other enough to understand the other’s anger, and both were afraid to begin a physical confrontation . . . they stayed still.

“You getting rid of it?” Wade asked.

“What? Why do you care? You just said it’s not yours.”

“Yeah, well, I care, alright? You said you wanted me to make it go away.”

They remained still. The room felt much darker, as if the light had been drained from it entirely, and Peter wondered when night fell and why he didn’t feel tired despite how emotionally exhausting the news about the pregnancy had been. There were eerie shadows cast about the room from the glow of the television, enough that Peter almost wished that he shattered the screen rather than the table, but he knew that no amount of violence would fix any of this. It was his anger that got so many people he loved _killed_ , but he supposed the real question would be whether he allowed his anger to take away this child, too.

“I don’t know,” said Peter.

“That ain’t an answer, baby boy.”

“Well, it’s all the answer I can give! This – this was _never_ supposed to happen to me! I’m not biologically equipped for it, but I wasn’t exactly active either . . . it’s like a double impossibility! I didn’t -! I didn’t even get a _choice_! I couldn’t prevent it with contraception, because it just – it just happened! It’s such a violation. It’s just _here_ and now _I’m_ the one to deal with it! Twelve weeks, too . . . isn’t that the cut-off in our state?”

“You work for Tony freaking Stark,” Wade snapped. “Lots of places have up to twenty-four weeks as the limit, too, so it’s not like anyone could judge. Plus, if it’s true, how is it going to come out? Your life could be in danger, which makes it a no-brainer.”

“What if my life _isn’t_ in danger? What do I do then?”

“Why ask me?”

That was a good question. _Why_ ask Wade? He looked up at Wade and saw the anger on the older man’s face; he knew that Wade had grown so much in the years, so that now he respected Al instead of abusing her, just as he strived to be a hero instead of killing almost randomly, and he even found a new purpose in his daughter. The scars that marked him were more than just physical, but emotional and mental, too. Peter hoped – beyond the façade of silliness and indifference – there was a spark of wisdom and deeper understanding. He hoped that Wade would have some insight, one that more normal people might lack.

“If I’m right, it’s yours, too.”

“It’s not mine!” Wade snapped. “I keep telling you that!”

Peter rolled his eyes, because – although it was true that he had no absolute proof – he just _knew_ that this child was Wade’s and that it belonged to him . . . at the very least, Wade’s actions had caused this child to come into existence. This child wouldn’t exist if Wade hadn’t cast some unknown spell with unknown consequences! Wade could deny it, but it wouldn’t change matters, and . . . and even if it _wasn’t_ Wade’s . . . what did he do next? The confusion and sense of terror were beyond anything he ever experienced.

“So . . . what now?”

“Go get yourself checked out, Petey.”

“Fine.” Peter sighed. “ _Fine_. You’re coming with me, though. Bruce can do a DNA sample and put this thing to rest once and for all, then _you_ can go get Strange and tell him to haul butt to Stark Tower, because I want to know just _how_ this happened! You owe me that!”

“I don’t owe you shit aside from rent!”

“It was your spell!”

Wade merely rolled his eyes. Peter stood up to see Wade walk away, where he headed into what had become ‘his’ suite. The door was left open, which revealed a large workout area and machines dedicated to exercise, and – at once – he saw Wade begin to lift weights and ignore him entirely. Peter stood up, although he was forced to grip hard onto the arm of the sofa to gain some leverage, and – as he walked over to Wade – he wondered when the ex-mercenary had commandeered the biggest suite. He leant against the doorframe and asked:

“Are you coming?”

“To you murdering my child? Forget it.”

Peter closed his eyes briefly. It helped to regain some control, but when he opened them he was faced with Wade working out almost manically. He half-expected the other man to have gone right into his bedroom, perhaps left into the shower, but – instead – he conspicuously planted himself in the midst of a workout. There wouldn’t be long until he broke out into a sweat to match Peter’s nervous one, just as it wouldn’t be long until he snapped entirely and either stormed out or lost himself in a television marathon. Wade was at breaking point.

It was difficult to deal with, because it was easy for Wade to judge when he barely believed what he heard and had no bigger responsibility than keeping his muscles ripped as usual, but it wasn’t that easy for Peter. He was the one carrying this – this – this _thing_! Until Bruce ran tests, he had no idea _what_ he was carrying! It could have been Cthulhu itself for all he knew! Peter had no idea whether he would survive this pregnancy, even if the child that he carried were Wade’s as he suspected, or even how it happened or why it occurred. He didn’t know whether someone would try to hurt or take the child, just as he didn’t know whether he would or could carry to term, and the more he thought about it -!

There were far too many risks, which made the whole thing a nightmare come to life, and the more he thought about it . . . the terror was overwhelming and he felt faint. The lightness in his mind made him feel dizzy, just as his body felt surprisingly weak and broken, and even his joints seemed to turn to jelly and threatened to give way. He clutched the doorframe for support. He – he didn’t even know how he _felt_ about abortion . . . it had always been considered _someone else’s_ choice before, as he hadn’t the uterus for it to even be an issue that would ever affect him. Now he didn’t know what to do and Wade _judged_ him for it.

“I thought you were all for ending it,” Peter snapped.

“No, I just can get why you would,” said Wade bitterly. “I wouldn’t want to birth something as hideous as me, either, but it ain’t the kid’s fault . . . if it’s my fault, I should be the one punished, shouldn’t I? Still, not right for a kid to be born like me. It’d be better off dead.”

“Oh, _now_ you want to accept responsibility? _Now_ you want to claim the child when you’re telling me to get _rid_ of it? No, Wade, that’s not how this works! I know you think the worst of yourself, but you don’t get to think the worst of me! Do you think I hate you so much that I’d get rid of this thing, just for being like you? There are a lot of reasons to get rid of it, but not because of who its parents may or may not be. I just . . . I need help to decide.”

“Well, I’ll go get Strange then.” Wade sighed and dropped the weights. “You’ll want him and Bruce to work this out, won’t you? You don’t want my opinion, clearly, plus I’m the one that supposedly knocked you up with some backward spell . . . I _know_ what that spell did, Petey, but it wasn’t to knock you up with some child! I don’t know what’s going on, but –”

“Then you better _figure it out_! I’m going, Wade. I’m going to Bruce and getting looked over, but if this thing turns out to be yours -! If this is your fault -! I – we – we’ll need to talk about what _we’re_ going to do, okay? I’m not doing this alone!”

“Yeah, well, what choice will you have? Everything I touch turns to shit! I’m not ruining a kid’s life like that! I’m not going to get involved with them, only for them to hate me because I’ve fucked everything up! You said it yourself that they shouldn’t even be here! What if -? What if they’re _like_ me? They’ll always hate me for passing that on to them, always! I’m not going to make that fucking worse by fucking them over! Go to hell, Petey!”

Peter drew in a broken breath. He knew that Wade could be self-loathing, but this -! He wondered whether this was why Wade refused to let Ellie live with him, just as why he fought so constantly with Shiklah over his priorities, why Shiklah – like every other relationship he had until then – ended so bitterly. Peter pressed a hand to his stomach, as Wade sat up on the workbench and put his head into his hand. It was all so surreal.

“I’m going,” whispered Peter. “Are you coming?”

Wade flipped him the middle finger. It was then he stood up, grabbed a towel from the floor, and marched into the bathroom to the left of the room. The sound of water was louder than the rain from outside, enough that it would deafen Wade to Peter’s impassioned pleas, and it was difficult to realise that – if this were real – he could very well be on his own. He wasn’t sure what was worse: to not know whom the father was or for the father to be a man that so blatantly hated the idea of being tied to the child. He felt . . . lost.

It was a difficult decision to come to, but until he knew all the facts -? He couldn’t decide. The only option was to go to Bruce and endure all the tests, even if the poking and prodding would be a form of hell in itself, and he tried to remember that – this time – he would have to rely on self-control to listen to what Bruce said to him. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t scale the building to break into his own apartment and confront a dangerous man, like he just did, one that had every ability to hurt him and the child, and he would need to go _now_ in order to deal with this sooner rather than later. He wondered how he would tell his aunt. He wondered how Tony would deal with it. He wondered so much about it all . . .

“I guess this is it then,” Peter muttered sadly.

He left without a glance back.

 


	2. Chapter Two

# Chapter Two

“How’re you feeling?”

Peter looked up in surprise.

There was a smile on Bruce’s face that felt . . . _surreal_. It was sincerely meant, enough that there was a crinkle to the corner of his eyes and the whites of his teeth were clear to see, but it was also undeniable that there was a strange nervousness, too. Peter was aware that Bruce often seemed skittish at the best of times, but this time it seemed to run deeper than a personality quirk. He was _watching_ Peter through his mask of ‘perkiness’. It was as if he were worried that the monster lay within Peter, something about to break out at any moment.

The air felt ten times heavier, so that Peter couldn’t get enough breath, and he was left to wonder whether Bruce felt the ‘monster’ was what Peter could become, if angered enough about his circumstances, or whether it was something deeper . . . something _inside_ of him. He brought a hand to his stomach and held it there. It felt wrong, enough that he was scared to move his hand away, but to leave it there felt wrong, too. He wondered how it came to exist and how it would come out. The worst part would be if he decided to keep it, when he would feel his stomach grow and know that he would be unable to fight as Spider-Man, and the world would speculate on where he went and why. What would he tell people, too?

He sat down on the edge of the bed. It was hard and uncomfortable, designed solely for medical usage, and it made him dread what was to come. The scent of the room was one of sterility; the bleach and disinfectants made it clear that this was as far removed from home as possible, and he couldn’t imagine how anyone could give birth in a place like this, where their child’s first sights were be filled with nothing but metal cabinets and terrifying looking medical equipment. Peter wondered whether this would be where he would spend the next six months or so, because he didn’t feel strong enough to deal with that.

“Hey,” said Bruce, “do you need to talk?”

“Er, maybe? I just – I need to get my thoughts together, first.”

Peter gave a sigh and threw himself back onto the bed, where he thought – in a brief moment – how comfortable the pillows were and wondered what the strange footrests were doing at the end, but Bruce took that moment to come up to him as he curled up. He saw the white coat of the older man, as well as the strange collection of objects on his clipboard, and – when he looked up even more – he saw that Bruce couldn’t quite make eye contact with him, which worried him just a little. It was a quirk of Bruce’s, but this seemed different somehow.

“I should be worried,” Peter whispered. “Shouldn’t I?”

“I won’t lie to you, Peter. I am worried by the results of the urine and blood tests, but that doesn’t mean that you really are pregnant . . . genitalia aside, there’s the issue of sexual activity, too. I just – I don’t know; it’s not something I’ve ever seen before. I would usually ask Tony for his opinion, but – well – you know Tony . . . I don’t want to turn you into his pet project when we don’t even know for sure. Let’s just take this slowly, okay?”

“I – I don’t know what I’m going to do! There was an – er – incident with Deadpool and Dr Strange a while ago, with a – well – stray spell . . . I just _know_ that this is connected to that, I just _know_ it! Oh God, what if this is to do with my mutation? Am I -? Am I going to lay a dozen eggs or something? What if they burst their way out, too?”

“I doubt you’re having anything other than a normal pregnancy, Peter.”

“What part of this is ‘normal’?”

Peter pouted and then rolled onto his back. He kicked at one of the footrests, which spun around in a loose circle, as he thought back to his relationship with Mary Jane. It felt as if that this should have been her lying here and waiting to be examined, because – at a time – it _had_ been their child they expected. He felt a sudden sense of loss and betrayal, before he let his hand fall at his stomach and felt the horror again at how unnatural this was, and then let out a long sigh as Bruce adjusted the items on his clipboard.

“This is why we need to do the ultrasound,” murmured Bruce.

He gently handed Peter a plain gown, which appeared to do up on the back. Peter reached out to take it, before he realised that the paper beneath him was attached to his arm, and he gave a sigh as he tried to swat it off his wet uniform. Bruce took pity on him and pulled the paper away. The look that he wore was a terse and exasperated one, as he hadn’t taken kindly to Peter getting so wet in his condition and wearing the uniform that was soaked with rainwater, but he kept silent and then shook his head with a forced smile.

It took Peter a moment to jump up and head behind a screen, where he peeled off his uniform and curled his lip at the horrible slurping sound it made as it parted from his skin, and – worse yet – the wet slapping sound it made him feel nauseous when he dropped it onto the floor, which was now spattered with droplets of water. He pulled on the gown. It felt scratchy and dry on his skin, but it covered the small lump and hid the accident from sight, and he felt eternally grateful to have some barrier between his eyes and the _thing_ inside him. It didn’t feel human, but maybe he feared it being a spell gone wrong . . . maybe something _was_ wrong with it, and – well – what would he do then?

“Here,” Bruce said.

Peter stepped behind the screen and looked to see Bruce with a bottle of water. The older man gave a nervous smile and tilted his head slightly, as he gave a shrug to his shoulders. The room suddenly felt so cold, especially as his body was still damp and the gown was so revealing, but he drew in a shuddered breath and took the water into his hand. Bruce stepped back as Peter walked back to the bed and jumped up, where he stared at the water nervously.

“It’s for the ultrasound,” Bruce explained.

“I have to drink it all? There must be a pint in there! I doubt Tony could drink all this, even if you filled it with the finest vodka in town . . . although I did once see him get drunk on water, if that counts, but it still wasn’t this much! Am I trying to turn into Spider-Pool?” Peter paused and realised what he said. “Oh God, I can’t believe I just said that. That has to be the _worst_ thing that I could have said. Did I tell you who the father could be?”

“Not yet, but we can discuss the father once we are sure that there _is_ a child and that you _can_ carry to term. If we can avoid jabs at Tony’s sobriety, you just need to drink the entire bottle. Your bladder needs to be full in order to get a good scan, assuming . . .”

“Assuming this thing is where it ought to be on a woman?”

“Something like that, yes.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them. Peter respected Bruce more than anyone else he knew, because he had always been such a considerate and intelligent man, but – like now – there was often the sense that he was hiding more than he knew. He held a hard gaze and was incredibly observant, which meant that he was _analysing_ Peter the way that he did with the rest of the Avengers. It was nice to know that Bruce put his feelings first and wanted to think before he spoke, but it confirmed in Peter’s mind that something was _wrong_.

“So what do I do now?” Peter asked.

“Drink the water and get some rest,” said Bruce. “Pepper already knows about your . . . _predicament_. . . so I’ll see whether she can be here for emotional support, but – if you would rather do this alone – that isn’t an issue at all. This is all about what _you_ want, okay, Peter?”

“Yeah, I – er – guess so . . . thanks, Bruce. This means a lot, honestly.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just drink that water, okay?”

Bruce reached out to tap the water bottle in his hands. It made a sloshing sound that simply made Peter wince, especially when he thought about how many women he’d heard complain about the baby pressing on their bladder . . . it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He looked down at the bottle in his hands and wished for a window or a television screen or a painting or – or – or _anything_! He needed a distraction. He needed this to be a bad dream.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Try to rest, Peter, please?”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything.”

“Just promise to try.”

There was another one of Bruce’s classic smiles, this time with a hint of sadness as he kept his eyes low and slouched on his way towards the door, and – as the door opened and closed – Peter never felt more alone than he did in that instant. He knew that there was something growing inside of him, but with Wade nearly as in denial as Peter was and so many questions unanswered . . . he pressed a hand to his stomach and swallowed hard.

“ _Please be human,”_ Peter whispered.

Sleep came hard . . .

* * *

_‘This is only until your apartment is sorted, Wade.’_

_Peter opened the door to the suite. The lounge-area held a rather musty smell, from disuse and a lack of airing, but he knew that Wade’s apartment held a_ far _worse smell than anything like the one of this room, so he found some relief in that his friend wouldn’t be too offended. He made a mental note to open the windows later, maybe spray some air-freshener, but a part of him wondered whether it was worth the effort. It would be important to check the bathroom and bedroom, too, just in case they were in a worse state._

 _There was a long and low groan from Wade behind him, but Peter ignored him to march into the bedroom to the right. Yes, this would definitely need a good airing. He noticed sheen of dust on some of the surfaces, whilst the bed looked allergy inducing, but – all in all – it was tidy enough and otherwise clean. The bed was larger than anything Peter had ever seen, which showed that this was supposed to be the master suite, and a rather childish part of him wondered how much fun a guy could have in that bed with a willing partner, because –_ damn _– it was big enough to get experimental in all sorts of ways._

_‘I’ll fetch some clean sheets.’_

_‘Don’t bother, Petey,’ muttered Wade. ‘They’ll only get dirty, anyway.’_

_‘I suppose you’re right, you’re covered in blood and –’_

_He felt himself spun around._

_Peter thought for a moment that Wade looked surprisingly handsome. He knew that it wasn’t easy to come straight out of battle and stand confident, much less look good with a uniform torn to shreds and be smeared with blood, but – in a brief second – he saw only muscles and perfect posture. It was as if he were being surrounded by Wade, enveloped by him, and he realised that his legs were pressed firm against the bed and Wade stood inches from him._

_It puzzled him briefly, but Wade wasn’t averse to invading others spaces and was a notorious flirt, and Peter – too tired to deal with such behaviour – shook his head and made to walk away, only to find his friend’s hands immediately upon his upper arms again, only they . . . stayed there. He swallowed nervously and forced a smile. It wasn’t like when MJ held him, as her hands were so soft and her grip was more gentle, and he sometimes didn’t feel it in a way that mattered, as he so needed an_ equal _in strength, someone that he didn’t_ have _to worry about hurting, and this hold just reminded him of parts of their break-up._

 _He could see that Wade had rolled up his mask, enough to reveal plump lips that seemed dry and flaky, and Peter knew there was no way that they could ever feel like MJ or Gwen, although a part of him wondered why they ever should or would. It was difficult not to see Wade’s eyes, because – more than anything – he couldn’t judge what the other was thinking or feeling, and he felt so_ exposed _when he wore his civilian clothing and a nervous smile. He just wished he knew what to say or do, but Wade looked so serious and –_

_‘Well, I guess I’ll just –’_

_Wade kissed him._

_It was sudden and passionate. He felt Wade wrap his arms around his waist, as he pulled him close, and – even though this was nothing like what he was used to – he felt_ safe _in an embrace that was so strong and consuming. The muscles beneath his hands, which pressed themselves to a chiselled chest, were firm and toned and every bit as perfect as they looked to the naked eye, and yet this was nothing like the kisses he shared in the past with women, and this felt . . . strange. He didn’t know how to react._

 _They held together, as dry lips pressed against his, until he felt an urge to wet them and taste them, just to see what they would be like . . . his curiosity burning into him like an instinct he couldn’t fight . . . until Wade opened his mouth and let Peter explore him. It was wet and hot and somehow_ really _good, but when he felt something press against his leg -? He suddenly realised the sobering truth: Wade was a_ man. _Peter pulled back his head and drew in a huge gulp of air, as he tried to regain his composure and feared what Wade would make of any of this. He hadn’t meant to lead Wade on! Peter pushed away and took a few steps to the side._

_He raised the back of his forearm to his mouth and panted in shock._

_‘I – I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to -!’_

_‘Shit, seriously?’ Wade asked. ‘You were giving out all the signs, baby boy! Oh God, I thought you were -! Hey, I guess it makes sense, right? Why have old Scar-Face when you can have yourself a pretty redhead? I didn’t mean to offend you, Petey, I swear, I just –’_

_‘What, n-no! I’m not offended! If I were going to be with a guy, I swear it’d be you, but -’_

_‘You’re straight, right? I thought you were secretly straight as a dodecahedron.’_

_‘I don’t even know what -! No, I’m straight.’_

_Peter bit his lip and looked away. It was hard to be confident without his mask, a trait that he shared with Wade more than he’d like to admit, and he couldn’t help but pull back his arm so that he could touch his lips with the tips of his fingers. Biology wasn’t something one could control, was it? He couldn’t_ help _how he reacted, could he? Hell, it could have been Nova that kissed him and he would have theoretically have reacted the same, and he_ hated _Nova. It just had to be . . . a bodily reaction . . . nothing more. He wasn’t gay._

_‘I’m sorry, Wade.’_

_‘Don’t worry, it never happened, right?’_

_The smile on Wade’s face was replaced by his mask, leaving only the outline of his lips through the material, which was worrisome in itself, as Wade only tended to replace his mask to mask the tears. It left Peter with a huge stab of guilt within his chest, but he ignored it in order to force a smile and try to ease the awkwardness between them. If Wade would rather forget the whole thing, maybe it was for the best? They could go back to the way things were._

_‘Right,’ said Peter._

_* * *_

“Ah! T-that’s cold!”

Peter winced as the gel hit his stomach. He felt far too exposed with the gown hiked up to his ribcage, even if the blanket covered all the necessary parts to preserve his modesty, and he hated the fact that his stomach was so blatantly on show. It was hard to imagine the last time he displayed his midriff like this, at least outside of the bedroom with only one person at a time, but here he was with both Bruce and Pepper _staring_ at his stomach. He felt nervous. It was enough to make him try to work out the last time he _did_ workout.

He looked down to see that Bruce had drawn ‘P.P.’ on his abdomen with the gel, which was enough to force him to draw in a shuddered breath, because it served as a reminder that this was _his_ child, if it were a child at all. It was difficult to look at. It served as a reminder that this thing came about somehow, and – if he kept it – he would have to _name_ it . . . it would very likely have another father, which meant that he would need to pick which surname to use, and – on that note – what was Peter to it? He was the one carrying it, so would that make him its mother or his father or -? He drew in a shuddered breath and leaned back on the bed.

Pepper came around his side and held onto his hand. It felt warm and he relished in how soft and comforting her touch felt, but it reminded him vaguely of his aunt and brought up questions of how he would broach this subject with her, as she was certainly a lot more traditional than Pepper. Peter closed his eyes and instead listened to Bruce’s movements. The sound of the machine being wheeled and equipment being lifted was nerve-wracking.

“Sorry about that, Peter,” said Bruce.

“Why is it that cold? Does it _have_ to be that cold? Is the idea to _shock_ the baby into moving or something, because – heck – even _I_ got hypothermia from that one! Couldn’t you have warmed it or something? I mean, Wade was telling me about this self-heating –”

“Peter, it isn’t _that_ cold,” Pepper interrupted. “Just bear with it.”

“Yeah? You want to swap places?”

He instantly regretted his choice of words. It caused him to open his eyes and look at her with absolute guilt and humiliation, but – true to her forgiving nature – she simply shook her head and raised a hand to signal silence would be fine. Pepper didn’t let go of his hand, but nor did she show any signs of being truly hurt by his words, even if there was a slight paling to her skin and her eyes looked down just enough to show that she couldn’t quite bear to look at him. Peter swallowed hard and squeezed her hand to try and reassure her.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Pepper, I –!”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter,” she said kindly. “You know, you’re a lot more like Tony than you realise. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad, but it’s a fact nonetheless, so just think before you speak next time, okay? Just take my word on this: the next part is going to be _really_ uncomfortable. Just remember that the bathroom is right next-door for the second its over. That’ll be the biggest relief of your life.”

“You mean it gets more uncomfortable than it already feels? I’m about to burst any second now, which is pretty frustrating . . . I mean it hardly seems worth the inconvenience for a child I don’t even know that I’ll keep, and -! I’m so sorry, Pepper! I know that I shouldn’t talk about this in front of you, but it’s just so -!”

“Scary? I know, honestly, I know. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

“But it just doesn’t seem fair to complain when –”

“When I’ve miscarried so often?”

Pepper smiled weakly and gave a sigh. It was strange to see her looking so vulnerable, because she usually held an almost perfect aura of stoicism and professional detachment, but – perhaps due to how long she had known Peter – she seemed emotionally invested. He could feel her thumb stroke the back of his hand, whilst she looked sadly between Peter and Bruce, as if searching for some unspoken truth. Bruce merely gave a nervous smile and looked away, before he pushed the machine into position and sat next to Peter on the opposite side.

“Everyone is different,” said Pepper.

“I know that, but it’s just so unfair that –”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m sure Bruce will tell you the same thing, but you honestly have _no_ reason to feel guilty for how you feel. I wouldn’t judge anyone else in your position for considering what you are, so there isn’t any conceivable way that I would judge _you_ , Peter. My experiences with my pregnancies don’t invalidate whatever it is that you’re feeling, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to feel a certain way, just because of what I went through.”

“Pepper’s right, Peter,” replied Bruce. “Every woman’s situation is completely different, but – well – in your case . . . I’d say it would be strange if the thought didn’t cross your mind. I mean, you have to admit; this is a very special case.” Bruce brandished the scanner with a smile. “Okay, ready to begin?”

“No.” Peter sighed heavily. “No, I’m not ready to begin! This – this isn’t _fair_ , Bruce! Pepper tried for – what? – years to have a child with Tony, now they’ve broken up and she can no longer have any children and -! Oh God, Mary Jane lost a child, too . . . we were going to have a little girl, but she lost it. How – how is it right that I have this child when so many people _want_ one and can’t have one? Even if -! Even if I carry it to term, can I just give it to someone else? I can imagine someone like Pepper would . . .”

“We can discuss abortion and adoption once we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Okay,” said Peter. “Okay, go ahead.”

The scanner was pressed to his stomach. It felt uncomfortable, especially with the pressure hard upon his full bladder, but he bore with it and stared hard at the ceiling above him. He hated the sight of the sterile and white paint, as the room had none of the personality and life that the rest of Stark Tower held, and he wondered whether Bruce chose the décor on purpose, because of how it represented something _neutral_ , which was something he strove for in both his work and his personal life. It was almost reassuring.

He held tighter onto Pepper’s hand, where he turned his head to watch her in place of the screen, but he could see the way that she watched it with a small smile. It amazed him how she always seemed to look so beautiful, even when she was filled with worry over himself or Tony or work in general, but he could see the way her eyes lit up and the colour returned to her face. Peter wondered whether she lived through him in that moment, finding happiness for the child he carried that she could never keep. He sincerely wondered whether she would want to raise the child, if he asked her, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask.

“Just be glad you aren’t a woman,” Bruce teased.

“What? Why? What difference would -? _Oh thank God_ , am I not pregnant?”

“I just meant that – with women – we sometimes use a more invasive ultrasound.”

It was a thought that made him blanch. He looked up to see Bruce observing the screen with a rather focussed expression, but he could see that the older man was serious. Peter thought about how this child had been forced on him, followed by the mysteries of how he would even deliver it, and the thought that he might need an ultrasound . . . well . . . _there_ – the closest thing to _that_ he had – made him feel sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to count to ten silently in his head. He needed to calm down.

“Can – can I go now?” Peter asked.

“Just a few more –” Bruce gave a bright smile “– _there we go_! Okay, it seems that you have a fully dedicated area for the child, which – for all intents and purposes – is rather like a womb, although I would need to do a more extensive investigation to see whether there is a way for the baby to come out naturally. I would probably recommend a caesarean, simply because we don’t know enough to allow for a natural birth, which – to be honest – could be very risky should something go wrong, but it’s all up to you . . .

“What I can say is that you’re just over twelve weeks, give or take, which means – by the laws of the state – you have another twelve weeks to make a decision on whether to keep the baby or to abort it, but . . . I’m only willing to abort up until twenty weeks, personally. I can already give you a rough idea of the gender, but I’d rather wait for your second-scan to give you a more accurate prediction, and – well – I can already see them making a little fist. They look perfectly healthy to me. I can’t see any deformities or any potential risks, in fact – if you were a woman – I’d be saying this is a perfect pregnancy. Do you want to look? You haven’t looked at the screen at all yet, Peter. It may help you to accept it.”

“No, I – I can’t look. Not yet. If I look, I’ll get attached.”

“They look so beautiful, Peter,” said Pepper.

The nausea was hard to suppress. This was the confirmation he both needed and dreaded, so that now he knew exactly what lay inside of him, and now he knew exactly that his worst fear had come to life to torment him. He drew in a deep breath and wondered just what this would mean, because to keep the baby or to give it away . . . it would mean to carry it to term and to birth it . . . it would be months off from his duties, the humiliation of telling people, and the trauma of giving birth to something that he may have to raise alone. He was _scared_.

“Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “I’ll print you a copy, in case you change your mind.”

“Thank you,” replied Peter.

Bruce handed him a paper towel. He accepted it gratefully and rubbed away the residual gel from his lower abdomen, before he lowered the gown beneath the blanket, thankful to finally have an extra layer to protect his body from view. Pepper took the paper from him, as he lay back down and tried to compose himself, and he heard briefly the sound of rustling as she disposed of it and the sound of Bruce moving some papers. He sighed as the older man placed an envelope next to him. It was no doubt the ultrasound.

It was difficult to sit up when he felt so heavy and so tired, especially as the news that this was – in fact – an actual pregnancy exhausted him. There was no hiding from the results any longer, because they were correct and they were his, and suddenly he realised that he was _carrying_ a living being inside of him. He was responsible for its health, its safety, and its _life_. Peter raised a hand to his mouth. He knew it wouldn’t stop the bile or the rising vomit, but it gave him a sense of reassurance nonetheless. Peter pulled himself up to sit upright, before he moved his shaking hand away and realised the room was spinning . . .

“You know _theoretically_ male pregnancy is possible,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, I know,” snapped Peter. “I’m living proof of that, aren’t I? Here I am!”

“No, what I mean is that it’s _scientifically_ possible, not just by magic. I’ve heard scientists manage to implant an embryo into the abdominal wall of male animals, with the embryo creating its own placenta to survive, although – I admit – the animals needed an extreme amount of hormones to maintain the pregnancy. I’d have to investigate that with you further, actually, as you may require some shots at a later stage. Unfortunately the abdominal wall doesn’t cope with the placenta’s detachment well, but . . .

“Luckily you seem to have that solved with your own dedicated womb. I’ve heard it said that there’s research into removing the nucleus of an egg to replace with the nucleus of a sperm, then using a partner’s sperm to fertilise that egg, resulting in a child with two biological fathers. You would still need a surrogate to carry the child, however, and it’s a lot of work when there are so many unwanted children up for adoption, but it’s possible nonetheless, which could revolutionise future research. I – well – it looks like you may be perhaps capable of creating your own eggs, but . . . I’ll need to investigate.”

“It’s no wonder you and Tony are so close,” said Pepper kindly. “I forget just how passionate you can both be about your work. I think it’s far too early to even think about whether Peter can have any more children, though . . . don’t you? We need to work out how viable the pregnancy is and how the child will be born, then we can go from there.”

“Well, I’d like to consult with Tony about that. Is that okay with you, Peter?”

“Er, sure, if it will help. So I’m -? The baby is -?”

Peter opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember closing them, but evidently he must have at some point, and – luckily – the room seemed to no longer be spinning around him. The nausea was still intense, to the point that his stomach felt cold and he could feel a strange liquid sensation through his chest, and there was a clenching and tightening in his throat that was difficult to subdue. He hoped this wasn’t morning sickness, because the last thing he wanted was to mourn the loss of his social life.

Oh God, how would he explain his absence at the _Bugle_? He supposed that he could quit and accept Tony’s offer at a full-time job, but that would be so . . . awkward. He could probably live with Aunt May or Tony to save money, but then how long could he do that before he officially became a sponge? Peter looked up to Bruce and gave him a look of longing. He needed to know that the child would be okay . . . he couldn’t leave a child ill or of mutant descent to the care system, knowing the risks and difficulties in adoption, and the cost of raising a child that was so ill would be more than he could financially bear.

“You have a perfectly healthy child,” Bruce said.

He heaved such a sigh of relief that Pepper laughed a little beside him. Peter dropped his hand to his stomach and rubbed at it through the gown, which rustled a little with the movement, and he smiled to himself as he thought about how that would be one less burden. Still, he knew that he had abilities of his own, which – whilst sparked by the radiation – were part of his actual genetics, and assuming Wade was the father . . . well . . . Wade had a mutant gene, too, which meant this child may well be _different_. He wondered whether they could test for mutant abilities. He wondered whether he’d have his own web-crawler.

Bruce gave a small sigh and began to fuss about with his clipboard, before he began to make notes and cast small glances across to Peter, which made it clear that the board was for his medical notes. Blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels . . . it would all be on there in black-and-white . . . eventually Bruce stopped writing and tapped his pen a few times on the board, until he sighed again and cast a somewhat stern look to Peter that made him wilt a little. They were good friends and he trusted Bruce, but he knew that the older man was worried.

“What about the father?” Bruce asked.

“What about him?” Peter snapped.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to, but it may help to have him around for emotional support, except . . . you said you weren’t engaged in any sexual activity? I know that you identify as straight, too, so . . . do you know who the father is? This wasn’t some sort of . . . attack . . . was it? Everything you say here is completely confidential.”

“N-no! No! Nothing like that! It’s Wade – er . . . Deadpool. We’ve been friends for a while, so he came to stay with me when his apartment burned down . . . I didn’t realise that he _has_ another house opposite Ellie or – this is the best part – it was _his_ fault it burned down.”

“Did you two . . . sleep together? Is this a natural pregnancy? A result of your –”

“God, no! This isn’t my mutation, it’s -!”

Peter snatched up the envelope and looked at it darkly. He shook his head and then threw it down onto his uniform, which was piled up beside him, before he picked them up and stormed his way past Bruce and Pepper to behind the screen. It didn’t occur to him that the gown was open at the back, although he heard a yelp of displeased surprise from Bruce and a small laugh from Pepper, and instead he focussed on getting dressed again, until he found himself fully clothed and stepping back into the room. He clutched the envelope in his hand.

“Wade cast a spell,” Peter snapped.

“A spell?” Pepper asked. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that Wade stole a book from Strange. He cast a spell that he has _no_ idea what it actually does, before he came to my apartment to stay and – well – _kissed_ me that same night. He said he’d ask Strange to get in touch. He’ll know what the spell does.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, in that case.”

They remained in silence for a long while. Peter actually found himself forgetting about the pressure on his bladder, due to the worry, whilst Bruce tidied up out of a need to keep busy and Pepper stood up to stand by his side. She played a little with his hair to tidy it, in a way that reminded him exactly of his aunt, but Peter knew it was a lost cause and apparently so did Pepper after some time. It was nice to be fussed over, but at the same time he just wanted to run and hide. It was all so overwhelming.

“Right, why don’t you get some rest?” Bruce asked. “I’ll call you back in the morning, at which point we can figure out just how this little one will come out . . . _if_ you decide you want to go ahead. Why don’t you go with Pepper? I’m just a phone-call away, if you need me. I’ll try to get a hold of Strange in the meantime. Deadpool isn’t the most . . . well, it’ll be better if someone can just _verify_ that Strange has been contacted. Take care, okay?”

“Yeah, thank you . . . thank you, Bruce. I mean it. Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me . . . just be careful.”

“Thanks, I – I will do.”

There was a shared look between Bruce and Peter, one in which he realised that Bruce – once again – knew more than he was willing to say, and he wondered whether he could expect a lecture or a stern questioning the next morning. Peter could barely believe the story himself, so it would make sense that Bruce would assume this to be a part of his mutation and perhaps a result of a relationship, whether consensual or not. Peter shook his head sadly and walked out of the room, as he prepared to sleep for the evening . . .

He loosely rested his hand on his stomach.

He wished he knew what to do.

 


	3. Chapter Three

### Chapter Three

_‘I showed you “pull my finger”, right?’_

Preston watched Wade from across the garden. He sat in full uniform on the swing beside his young daughter, which included the mask that he seemed averse to removing, and he occasionally used the tips of his boots to push back and forth. The smile behind his mask was clear by the way the material crinkled, just as she could hear the excitement in the high-pitch and fast-talking, and he seemed almost childlike in that instant. Preston wondered whether he was more friend or father, as it was sometimes hard to tell.

There was a laugh from Ellie, who was slightly underdressed for the cold chill, and Preston was forced to raise a finger to her lip to prevent herself from calling out, even as she bit the knuckle a little too hard for comfort. The weather was quite comfortable today, but she could see the clouds in the distance and feel the breeze picking up. It didn’t seem quite right to let Ellie out in a mere t-shirt and shorts, especially when she only just got over her bug from the other week, but Wade _was_ her father and he _did_ deserve some quality time with her, and so it didn’t feel quite right to question his choices at such a moment.

_‘Yeah, that was a good one,’_ Ellie answered back.

_‘Okay, well, I got an even better on! I can make a quarter appear from my ear!’_

_‘Oh, I know that trick! My dad used to do that one!’_

_‘Not like this! This is real magic!’_

Preston stood on the decking and looked out, as she heard the old woman from behind her let out a frustrated sigh and lean back on the chair with a creak. It was hard not to worry about exactly _what_ Wade exposed Ellie to and why, because his idea of ‘appropriate’ sometimes felt oddly . . . _unconventional_ . . . when it came to child-rearing. She knew that he would protect Ellie with his life, just as Ellie was his number one priority, and – in fact – he _left_ his wife in order to make sure Ellie came first, but when it came to blood and violence?

It was then that Wade lifted the side of his mask, just enough to reveal his ear and part of his mouth, and – clear as day – he wore a rather beautiful and sincere smile. The scabs on the corner of his mouth cracked a little on the movement, whilst she could see the yellow of his teeth through the open lips, and he seemed so genuinely _happy_ to be with his daughter that it caused her to smile in turn. There were so many years that he missed out upon. He wasn’t there for her first words, her first steps, or her first day at school . . . Preston hoped – _prayed_ – that he wouldn’t make that same mistake again. It would destroy him.

Unfortunately, it was then he showed Ellie his ‘trick’. Luckily, the young girl was positioned in such as a way so as not to see behind his ear, but Preston was reminded of the time when Wade dug into his own flesh and muscle to insert a tracking chip . . . lo and behold, the quarter looked slick and wet, which made her feel incredibly nauseous. Ellie just clapped loudly and begged for him to tell her the secret. Al let out a snort of derision behind Preston.

_‘Tada! Cool, right? Let me tell you how –’_

“I wish he wouldn’t do that,” said Preston. “It’s not right.”

Preston turned around to see Al sitting in the deckchair. The old woman looked quite peculiar, as if time had moved on around her and left her behind, so that everything she wore was dated in a way that only the elderly seemed to manage. The yellow of her shirt and orange of her skirt clashed, yet somehow looked quite nice, and – whilst at times she appeared coarse and casual – other times she appeared refined and almost youthful. Preston had caught her doing yoga earlier . . . _yoga_.

It made her curious why Wade let the woman sleep in his home, just across the street, but she so far hadn’t mustered the courage to ask, afraid of what possible story or reason she could hear, and – so far – this ‘Al’ seemed contented enough to simply be there. She told strange and not quite age-appropriate stories to Ellie, whilst playing cruel and borderline abusive pranks on Wade, and – through it all – she somehow kept the ex-mercenary in check, with an element of control that Preston thought no one capable of achieving. Preston gave as bright a smile as she could force, knowing it would help keep her tone a cheerful one.

“Still, he is a good father to her,” she said.

“Oh, they say I’m the blind one,” Al snapped back. “That man may be a good friend, may even be a good babysitter, but he’s sure as hell not a good father! Look at him! What kind of man leaves his daughter for eight years and then dumps her on a mere acquaintance?”

“Wade isn’t _just_ an acquaintance. He’s family. I won’t deny his past, Al; we both know that he has his issues, enough that he _really_ needs to talk to someone . . . I’m glad he brought you here after his divorce, because I was scared to think of him all alone in that house, dreading what he might do to himself or someone else . . . still, being a broken man does _not_ mean that he’s a broken father. His heart is in the right place, that’s all that matters.”

“Is it? Could o’ fooled me. Try telling that to the hundreds of people he’s killed – oh wait, you can’t!” Al threw a hand in the air and shook her head. “I love that boy, more than I care to admit, but he’s dangerous and he’s mentally ill. A good father does more than play pranks and turn up for Sunday lunch. He’s not doing enough and you know it.”

“He’s trying to be a better man. He truly is trying his best.”

“Trying to be good isn’t the same as _being_ good.”

Preston frowned and looked away.

It was clear that Wade loved Ellie more than anything, but Preston was loath to admit that sometimes love just wasn’t enough. He was slowly growing and evolving as a person, as a father also, but Ellie was _already_ in a good home and had a good support base, not to mention the fact that – as an older child – she was already fully aware of right and wrong, as well as fully formed in her personality. Preston knew that he would soon be an _amazing_ father to Ellie, but what about this new child? It would need so much more than what he gave.

“True, but it’s a start,” Preston defended.

It made her smile to see Wade act out a fight before Ellie. The way he fought with the air was something that a drama student would envy, whilst he moved with complete precision and skill that he displayed far greater talent than most agents she knew, and meanwhile Ellie jumped up to stand beside him and try to emulate his actions. He eventually took to teaching her how to move and how to hit, which Preston felt in two minds about, for it was one thing to teach defence and another to teach attacks.

Al shifted from behind Preston, which caused her to turn and watch as the older woman poured herself a glass of lemonade, with such accuracy that there wasn’t even so much as a spill or a shudder. It sent a spark of suspicion through Preston, because this woman seemed to exist in a realm outside the traditional set of senses. Al was a quick learner, highly perceptive, with an understanding of the human mind that was borderline supernatural, and – at times – Preston was reminded of the legendary S.H.I.E.L.D. agents such as Black Widow herself, and she was forced to wonder just how much Al knew. The woman broke the silence:

“The boy keeping it?”

“Peter? I don’t think he’s decided yet.”

“Wade will deny it ‘til he’s blue in the face,” Al muttered. “He couldn’t even believe that girl there was his, felt she was too beautiful to be from someone so ugly, but didn’t help that her mother rejected him when she saw his face. A worthless man won’t believe he can create anything of worth, and a baby . . .? Nothing more worthwhile than a kid, if you’re the sentimental sort. Poor guy will be terrified of what that means.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” admitted Preston. “He’ll be forced to confront himself. _I_ know he’s capable of being a true hero, but sometimes I don’t think _he_ believes it. It probably doesn’t help that it’s Peter carrying the child. He’s always had such a crush on Spider-Man, so he’ll probably use that as ‘proof’ it isn’t his. I don’t want him to repeat his mistakes.”

“The man he loves forced to carry his child unwillingly? He’ll blame himself.”

“Which means that he may well runaway again.”

“To be fair, this _is_ his fault.”

Preston watched as Ellie and Wade played and fought. It suddenly reminded her of two children, rather than a parent and child, and in that moment she truly _feared_ Wade’s reaction, because – despite everything – he was indeed rather childlike. The question was whether he learned enough from his mistakes not to repeat them, or whether he would run when confronted with so many of his fears and so many responsibilities. The weather suddenly felt much colder than it earlier did, prompting her to remember Ellie’s state of dress.

It broke her heart to call the young girl inside, but there was homework to be finished and a dinner to be eaten . . . the things that a _father_ should have remembered . . . the clouds had already pulled in and were turning an awful shade of black, which should have been enough to alert most parents to the fact that shelter was needed. These were things easily learned, weren’t they? It was possible for Wade to learn all that he needed to know, as well as to adapt to his new situation and become a father to put all others to shame, and he certainly had a love and respect for children, even if his nurturing side was lacking a little. Preston shook her head to try and clear her thoughts, before she decided to call Ellie inside.

“Ellie!” Preston called. “It’s time to come in!”

Ellie gave a high-five to Wade and then ran towards the house, where she stopped to say a brief ‘hello’ to Preston and Al, only to run inside and forgot to wipe her feet on the way, much like her father in that respect. It was enough to cause Preston to sigh, but – unlike Wade – she admitted to being a stickler for cleanliness and teaching responsibility, so any mess would soon be cleared up by the young girl, but for now there were bigger concerns to worry about. Preston walked towards the door to make sure that it was closed properly, before she turned to face Wade. He stood on the edge of the decking with a smirk.

It made her feel somewhat cruel to interrupt his time with Ellie, but – somewhat luckily – she timed her decision perfectly with the encroaching rain, which meant that she protected the young girl from the worst of the weather. The decking was protected by a wooden covering, which was useful for their imminent conversation, but Wade was so busy smiling behind his mask that it was almost as if he didn’t notice the rain at all. Preston gave a resigned sigh and sat down beside Al. Wade took to leaning against the door.

“Wade, we need to talk.”

“Okay, now I _know_ LMD’s can’t get pregnant!”

Preston ignored the almost silent snigger from Al beside her. It was difficult to remain calm when Wade stood opposite her with an almost mocking posture, so that one arm was held across his stomach and the other hung in the air with hand flopped backwards, whilst his mouth was wide open behind his mask to create an eerie shadow on the material. Hell, she could almost _feel_ the eye rolling and sensed him staring _away_ from her.

“I thought you should know that Strange responded,” she said.

“How’d you manage to get a hold of him? Séance? Ouija board? Hey, he better not be pissed about his book still! You tell him that if you _don’t_ want a book stolen then you should hide it better! Not that I _stole_ it . . . it was just borrowed without permission.”

“I spoke to him in person, Wade. He explained in detail how the spell worked, even willingly provided some notes and medical information, which I faxed to Bruce Banner over in Stark Tower. I thought that it was important you know what the spell did and how it worked, because – not that anyone is placing blame – you _were_ the one to cast it. It means that you _need_ to take a degree of responsibility in this. Do you think you think you can listen?”

Wade groaned loudly and spun himself in a circle, which was as melodramatic as it was suspicious, before he took a couple of long strides across the decking to lean upon the railing, whereby he stared upwards at the roof and crossed one foot across the ankle of the other foot. The rain blew across his back and cast half of his uniform in a darker shade of red than it ought need to be, before he waved his hands in the air in a gesture reminiscent of surrender, and then bent in half and turned his head at an awkward angle to look at Preston.

“Who the hell owns a fax machine anymore?”

Al let out a hiss of breath, as Wade leaned back and stood awkwardly against the railing, at which point Al found her stick and used it to strike hard at the wood inches from Wade’s waist, which caused the middle-aged man to yelp out in surprise and jump back. The smile on Al’s lips was as devilish as it was subtle, enough that Preston got the impression that a small slap with a stick was the very _least_ that she was willing to do to prove her point.

“That’s your only question?” Al snapped.

“Fine! I mean, it’s not like it’s a _huge_ issue, is it? I mean . . . no one owns a computer or a smart-phone or even carrier pigeon these days! It’d have been high-techer to send an _intern_ by hand to Stark Tower, but – hey – I’m not the S.H.I.E.L.D. guy, am I? Just saying.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing! I’ve seen you at your worst and at your best! You can’t change topics and pretend like it’s not an issue, because this ain’t going away and you damned well know it! I might not have been able to call you out on your bullshit at one time, Wade, but I can do it now and I’m not afraid to do it! God forbid, but – for better or worse – you’re like a son to me and I won’t see you hurt yourself like this! You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you! I’m not Deaf Wade, am I? No, just Crazy Ol’ Deadpool!”

“Alright, then you hush up and listen!”

Al struck at him again with her cane, but this time he jumped to the side and bent in half again to mock her for his missed aim. He raised his hands to his nose and pulled a face, one that likely involved a tongue being aimed at her from behind the mask, and then turned his hand around to flip her the middle finger. The cockiness lasted all of ten seconds, before Al pressed a button on her cane to extend it, and then proceeded to hit him hard on his head. It let out such a hideous cracking sound that Preston winced to hear it.

Preston waited for Wade to half-fall onto the fall, as he clutched at his head and occasionally pulled back his hands to check for blood, but – with his healing factor – it oughtn’t be an issue at all, in fact it felt as if he were purposely trying to put off such a discussion. It took him a minute or two to settle, but Preston allowed him time to do so, as she knew well enough that to _push_ him would be to push him _away_. She needed him to _listen_.

“The spell came from the Book of Vishanti,” said Preston.

“Gesundheit,” Wade joked.

The joke fell flat on the ears of both women. Preston instead reached out for a tablet computer left on the table, which she used to flick to the necessary reports and pages. The glow of the screen cast a strange light about her, enough that it seemed almost eerie in the darkening day with the clouds black overhead, whilst the occasional taps of her finger on the pad would likely be annoying for Al next to her with such keen hearing. Eventually, she found the page that she needed and spoke in a clear and slow voice:

“You said you cast the spell to protect a child?”

“Yeah, Ellie’s been in enough trouble ‘cause of me. What of it?”

“Well, what you were told was based off a non-native English speaker reading from a badly written transcription, which – from what I’m told – is kept away from the spell book and only used as a _reference_ for its contents, without containing the spells itself. It means a lot was lost in translation. They may have told you it was to ‘ _protect’_ a child, but Strange assures me it’s a spell to _procreate_ . . . it’s to _create_ a child, not _care_ for one.”

“That means ‘you _are_ the father’,” Al said. “Congratulations, Wade.”

“You watch too much daytime TV,” Wade muttered.

“You can talk,” she snapped back.

Preston rubbed at her temples with her free hand, before she shook her head and looked back down upon the tablet. The emails and reports were all rather extensive and some with rather advanced terminology, to the extent that even she struggled to comprehend some of the more specialised sections, and it occurred to her that she might just lose Wade should she not find a way to express the contents without overloading him. He wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but his attention span was short and his patience was thin.

“Can I continue?” Preston asked.

Wade muttered something under his breath, before he sat cross-legged on the floor in a rather childlike way, and looked up at Preston with his head resting on both fisted hands. It was enough to make Preston pity Peter, because – if Wade were indeed the father – he would certainly have his work cut out for him, essentially raising two children as he taught Wade how to be a real adult. Eventually Wade shrugged and gave a frustrating pout.

“Sure,” he mumbled.

“Well, he claims the spell works very simply,” said Preston. “It will create a child between two compatible people, regardless of gender or race or so forth, with only a sample of DNA needed for the child’s creation. It’s supposedly a great help in situations like – well – say _mine_ , in which I have no biological body to create a child, but DNA lurking about that could be used instead, or like those mutants whose abilities prevent them from _touching_ another human. It has its usages and is said to be very helpful.

“Clearly the spell thought you and Peter compatible, which may – _may_ – be what compelled you to kiss him that night . . . that kiss was all that was needed . . . there’s DNA in saliva, after all, and – at that point – the spell had all that was required. Strange says that the spell will pick the healthier party to carry the child, which explains why Peter was the one to become . . . pregnant. He says –” Preston sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose “– it changes the physiology of the person to one more . . . _alien_. Tony Stark is currently gathering more information from those like Thor, but it seems that Peter will carry like some races such as the Jotun. It means he could carry more children in future.”

“So the change is permanent? I got to say; I can’t imagine Petey ever wanting to carry any children after this one! Hell, he doesn’t even want _this_ one, let alone any others! Okay, so do you want to tell me how a Jotun carries children or births them? This isn’t going to explode out of Petey’s chest, is it? Like those aliens from that film . . . what was it called?”

“Anyway, it means you’re almost certainly the father, because the spell was cast by _you_. It means that it requires _your_ DNA, a partner compatible with _you_ , and – judging by your movements and your actions – this is the only person pregnant that –”

“Please, it’s not mine and you know it! Can I go now?”

“We can do a DNA test,” Preston said.

Wade stood up rather abruptly. The muscles in his arms tensed and his whole body seemed tight like a drawn bow, something ready to snap, and he kept his head low so as to stare at nothing in particular. He fisted his hands and drew in a deep breath, one that was slow and steady despite his obvious fury. There was a sharp breeze from behind him, which added to the chilling feeling he cast, and around his feet leaves began to dance.

It was easy to see why Wade would be so angry, especially given his history with doctors and medical centres, but this was important to give answers and add closure to both men. There was no doubt that Strange would increase security on his items, but – in the meantime – Preston would have imagined that Peter’s well-being would have been first and foremost in Wade’s mind, being that he was the one suffering and carrying this child. The notes described him capable of delivering naturally, with the back passage and relevant organs adapting to become akin to the oesophagus, with a new opening in place, but . . .

The report made Preston feel queasy just reading it, so she dreaded to think how Peter must feel given the current situation, and – no doubt – the idea of aborting the child would be abhorrent to him, given Pepper and Mary Jane’s previous experiences. Preston looked up to see that Wade had taken a step back, so that the natural light behind him was now blocked entirely, casting her in shadow save for the tablet computer. It was enough to make her want to reach for a weapon, but she couldn’t risk setting Wade off with the children home.

“You can’t do a DNA test without my DNA,” Wade muttered.

Al poked him hard in his chest with her cane. It was enough that Preston was nearly certain he would take the cane and snap it in two, but instead he merely swatted it away and took a further step back, so that – soon – he would be gone entirely. He was preparing to run away, which was exactly what Preston feared. This was a man that repressed and hid from his own mind, leaving it in disarray, so when faced with a problem like this . . . he would run. It would only be made worse by how he would blame himself. _He_ cast the spell.

“How far will you run this time, Wade?” Al asked.

“I’m not running. It’s a strategic retreat.”

“Strategy isn’t your thing.”

There was something that sounded almost like a snarl. It was then that Wade swore at them both, before he stormed off the deck and across the yard. The rain didn’t seem to bother him, even as it turned torrential and began to soak him through his costume, and Preston was left with a sad and broken feeling that Wade had taken this worse than she thought. The way the spell worked guaranteed that Wade was the father, but the way Wade’s mind worked meant that it would take so much more than reason to convince him. Preston turned off the tablet and slammed it down on the table. Al merely gave a huff in response.

“He’ll be back,” said Al. “Don’t worry.”

“I sure hope you’re right.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

# Chapter Four

 

Peter just couldn’t ignore them.

They were louder than they ought to be, enough so that he could hear them from across the laboratory, and – from the corner of his eye – he could see them gesticulating wildly at one another and pointing over to him. The web-shooters on the workbench were in pieces; it was difficult to adjust the speed of the web, especially when the lack of sleep had been getting to him lately, but he was determined to work through their childishness and _fix_ the shooters. He would make them better than ever, if only to just _prove_ nothing had changed.

He grabbed the screwdriver and spun it in the air, where he caught it with reflexes as quick as they had ever been, before he forced a smile and began to work on the smaller of the component, as he hoped that Tony wouldn’t mind that he borrowed some of his technology. The room was quite cold, which was probably for his benefit, and every now and again he found himself whispering a command to J.A.R.V.I.S. to adjust the thermostat, only to find – a few minutes later – one of the pair had paused their fight to adjust it back. He was tempted to send for Pepper or Steve. There had to be someone around to put a stop to the madness.

_‘Tony, it’s -! It’s not that easy . . .’_

_‘Of course it is! He’s – what – three months now? That’s like the biological equivalent of a vacuuming, maybe with a spray of air freshener afterwards. He probably would be up and running within a day. I’ve removed Trojan viruses with more stick.’_

_‘Yes, well, not everyone can take such a detached viewpoint as you.’_ Bruce removed his glasses to rub at his nose. _‘The human body is not a machine and a human foetus is not a parasite or a virus or an attachment . . . there’s more to consider than just what’s convenient . . . there are moral and legal issues to consider, not to mention any emotional attachment.’_

 _‘You’re talking as if this is_ natural _! He never had a uterus until this spell was cast, which – if I remember correctly – wasn’t exactly a consensual spell, either. You have to consider that this is going to affect his work, too, because – hey – it’s kind of hard to swing for two, even if you’re a mutate with Stark tech, speaking of which -! Do you know how many people Spider-Man saves? I could be wrong, but it’s – say – ten people this month? J.A.R.V.I.S.?’_

 _‘Twelve point five, Sir,’_ came a disembodied voice.

Peter jerked his hand unexpectedly. The strange statistic startled him and the talk was more than a little distracting, but unfortunately the screwdriver hit the mechanism at the wrong angle and caused a burst of web to shoot forward. It caught a pane of glass that separated his workbench from one of Bruce’s, which would have been bad enough in any other circumstance, but a small tug made it clear that the pane would give way and shatter with any kind of force. He leaned back with a sigh and decided to give up for the day.

“Point five?” Peter called out.

“Don’t ask!” Tony shouted. “Also, don’t eavesdrop!”

It was impossible not to roll his eyes. He spun around in his chair and looked out across to Tony, who – against all odds – had the audacity to look innocent at that comment, despite being the one to barge into the laboratory to start the discussion, which wasn’t helped by the tumbler glass in his hand filled with brown liquid. Tony dressed himself in an old t-shirt, one that showed the reactor clearly through the material, and his hair was messy enough to make it seem that he had not been awake for long. He didn’t look professional at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Peter rolled his eyes and stood up, which brought upon him a stern and firm look from Bruce. The older man stood with a clipboard in his hands and wore a white coat, so that he looked almost like the polar opposite to the man beside him in every way possible, and – whilst Tony seemed to prioritise Peter and his career – Bruce seemed to prioritise the baby and his health. It led to an awkward silence. Peter wasn’t sure whose side he was on, but Tony was almost a father to him and Bruce was like a role model, so the whole thing felt . . . awkward.

He walked over to them. Bruce leaned deceptively easily against a tabletop, despite the way his arms were tense and hands were clenched on the edge, whilst Tony paced with an almost believable ease, despite the way he glanced multiple times to his drink. The drink -! Peter shook his head, as he remembered that Tony was the reason _why_ he was teetotal to begin with, but to now have the _choice_ taken from him -? This – this _thing_ inside him had taken away his rights to his own body . . . even to refuse a drink was no longer _his_ choice.

“Do I not get a say about my body?” Peter asked.

“I’m just saying that we _need_ you, Peter,” replied Tony. “You’re a great addition to the team and you _help_ people! You’re like the poster boy for the Avengers! Heck, if you’d just come out as Peter Parker you’d make a _fortune_ in merchandise rights!”

“He can’t just make a clinically detached decision based on his career,” Bruce snapped. “This is never an easy decision for anyone to make, let alone someone in Peter’s position. Even for women that are _certain_ about the procedure, there will always be questions and elements of doubt and that feeling years later . . . I know it’s not the same, but -!” There was a heavy sigh. “I’ve heard Pepper say that – to this day – she sometimes walks past children and thinks ‘my child would have been that age now’ . . . it _devastates_ her.”

“Yes, but he’s not Pepper, is he? I’m just saying that those are _totally_ different circumstances! Do you have any idea how long Pepper and I tried for a child? Long enough that with the whole PTSD thing that it drove us apart! I love Pepper. That woman is like my best friend . . . there’s nothing harder than to listen to the crying and the grief –”

“Do you think that Peter won’t grieve? Do you think that they’re that different?”

“Yes! Pepper wanted a child and Peter doesn’t!”

“He doesn’t _know_ if he wants it.”

Bruce put his glasses away. He suddenly seemed infinitely older in those few minutes, as he hunched his back and leaned on the table with just one hand, whilst the other hand came up to scratch awkwardly at his head. It was then that he sent a nervous smile to Peter, which was almost as pleading as it was placating. Peter sighed and cast a brief look to Tony. The famous Stark merely looked between the two, before he raised his hands into the air – spilling some alcohol from its container – as he said a loud ‘what’.

It was easy not to take it personally, as Tony was often a little . . . self-involved. Peter often forgave it, because – in truth – he shared the same personality trait as the older man, so that he was also prone to seeing the world through his sole perspective, which made him a little insensitive at times himself. The only difference was that sometimes he thought Tony was completely _oblivious_ to this trait, unable to genuinely realise that different points of view existed, and that was likely why he and Pepper eventually drifted apart. Peter smiled sadly and touched lightly at his stomach, as he prayed that he did a better job than _Howard_ Stark.

“Abortion is . . .well . . . it’s difficult.”

“Are you going to tell me that you’re not just mean and green, but the raging – er – _rage_ is all down to . . . PMS? Let me just say, if you’ve firsthand experience of this then I would _love_ to do some experiments of my own, snookums.”

“Funny as ever, Tony,” Bruce muttered in frustration. “You know, I once heard a woman describe it like a tooth extraction. It didn’t make sense to me at first, but she said that a tooth can be removed even when it doesn’t cause you pain . . . you want it out, you consent to its removal, and then its gone . . . painless and no attachment. Still, you find yourself running your tongue over where it used to be . . . you _feel_ it missing. You prod at the scar regardless.”

“Well, what’s the alternative?” Tony downed the tumbler. “He’s going to need a proper place to live, not to mention someone to raise the child when he’s working, or is he just not going to work any more? Oh, not to mention healthcare costs, a nursery, _telling_ people that suddenly he’s knocked up, and – oh yeah – being a superhero.”

“W-wait,” interrupted Peter. “Let’s not skip too far ahead, okay? If I decide to keep . . . this baby . . . how is it going to come out exactly? I’m all for a c-section, but how long do those take to recover from? Will I be able to get back out there?”

“You want to keep the baby now?” Tony asked.

Peter winced at the question. The tone that Tony used was neutral and without judgement, but the question was just so poignant that it cut him to his core. He wished that he had an answer for the older man, especially when it was so important for his life and those around him, but the very idea of _making_ such a permanent decision . . . it scared him. It was hard to breathe in such a sterile and grey room, so instead he looked to Bruce and tried to find some comfort in the warmer face of his friend. Peter gave a sigh and forced a smile.

“I don’t know what I want,” Peter admitted.

He clenched at the material of his shirt, which crinkled enough to display a slither of skin, and – when he looked down – he could see the skin that slowly had begun to stretch with the growth of a child beneath. Peter felt a wave of nausea. This was unnatural, that much was true, but the other cold truth was that there _was_ something now growing inside of him, which meant that he had a decision to make. The skin felt warm when he stroked at what he knew to be there, which only added to the sense that this was _real_.

They remained in silence for a while. Tony sighed and began to move about to try and find a bottle to refill his drink, whilst Peter closed his eyes and lifted his head back, his closed eyes aimed upright at the ceiling. The silence was welcomed, as it gave him a chance to think, but the sounds of the machines in the background whirred on, whilst occasionally the computers beeped with new emails or updates. Peter set his head back down again, to see that Tony had commandeered a stool from nearby, where he sat on it with legs apart in an odd – yet casual – stance – whilst Bruce seemed unable to look away from Peter.

“I keep thinking about what Mary Jane lost,” he said sadly. “More than that, I keep thinking about how _devastated_ she felt, I – I had to hold her hair back when she was sick, because she just couldn’t _breathe_ through the tears and I –!”

“Guilt isn’t a reason to keep a baby, Peter,” said Tony.

Bruce gave a low hiss of breath through his nose, before he turned and began to fidget with some paperwork on the table, as if he felt almost afraid to participate in a discussion about such personal and sensitive things, knowing what both men had lost. Truth be told, it was an incredibly difficult discussion for Peter, too. He knew that he couldn’t keep the baby due to a sense of _obligation_ , but he saw firsthand how broken MJ became . . . he felt that sense of loss himself . . . he remembered how he dreamt of their child and how it would look, only to lose it and lose that sense of hope with it. How could he _willingly_ subject himself to that again?

“I know,” Peter confessed.

“There’s still adoption,” added Bruce. “Wade may not be capable of sole-custody, but I’m sure Preston may be able to help in some way. There’s also May or Pepper, and – well – if you wanted just some support . . . I’m willing to help you.”

“That still requires _birthing_ a baby. I’m pretty sure the only thing designed to come out of my body are those things served by hotdog vendors . . . not _those_ kinds of hotdogs either, because you just know that Tony is thinking it! I can see the wheels in his head! Look, all I’m saying is that I’m your typical wisecracking, jibe-giving spider . . . this baby -?”

“You’re aware of the epiglottis in the oesophagus, correct?” Bruce asked, as Tony took another sip. “Well, I’ve made extensive notes during our tests, as well as received a lot of reports from Thor that he’s collected from his libraries and from Loki, and – as far as I can tell – your colon has adapted in a way to mimic the workings of the oesophagus. It means that with sexual stimulation, you’ll be able to receive the semen to fertilise any eggs, whilst – when pregnancy has taken place – you can deliver a natural birth.

“The birthing canal will be suitable, as the nerves there have apparently changed enough to make the process no more or less painful than a female birth, but I will still opt for a caesarean regardless, because we simply aren’t equipped to deal with this should anything go wrong or deviate from what we expect. This will also enable you to control – to an extent – the date of the child’s birth, which may be of some small benefit to you.”

“That’s a lot to take in,” Peter murmured.

He ran a hand over his face, before he gave a sigh and walked across the room to the water-cooler, where – in an eerie display of accurate prediction of human behaviour – one of Tony’s robots used its claw to hand him a plastic cup of water. Peter shook his head, before he downed the liquid. It was wet his lips and gave him a sense of relief, so that he realised that he had been thirstier than he realised, and – suddenly – he was hit by the fear of cravings and ‘eating for two’. The child would need a lot more than just a place to grow.

“There’s one more thing,” said Bruce.

Peter sighed and walked back across the room to Bruce and Tony, as he ignored the look the two of them seemed to be sharing, which made it clear that – yet again – the two disagreed on whatever it was that Bruce thought Peter should know. Tony’s eyebrows went up and down, as he nodded his head in a strange rhythm, whilst Bruce just looked at him with a deadpan expression and then turned to face Peter. He ignored Tony’s hand gestures of frustration.

“We can do a paternity test even with the child _in utero_ ,” said Bruce.

“We know who the father is though, don’t we?”

“We do, but Wade is having some trouble accepting the truth,” Bruce added. “I’ve spoken to Agent Preston and it seems that he’s denying the parentage of your child, and – whilst in time he may come around of his own accord – concrete proof may make it easier for him.”

Bruce cast a very quick glance to Tony, before he looked away with a slight blush, but – pouting and putout about being ignored – Tony merely pursed his lips and raised his glass in a way that spoke of dismissal. It was childish, done in the exact same way that Rhodey loathed, but Peter could understand why Tony would be annoyed in such a situation, because Wade had a habit of making things more complicated than necessary. It was hurtful, as well, that Wade could _do_ this to him and _still_ deny the child. 

“Okay, I’ll get a sample,” muttered Peter.

“That’s fine,” said Bruce. “Just remember that you need to refrain from acting as Spider-Man until you make a decision, because any blows to the stomach could be detrimental. Tony and I will continue to discuss it, but try to make a decision soon, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, guys. I’ll catch you later.”

“Take care, Peter, and stay safe.”

“Be careful, kid,” Tony added.

Peter stumbled a little as Tony slapped a hand on his shoulder. The older man seemed unaware of his strength with the influence of the drink, but he was determined to show his support and his appreciation of Peter. He clenched hard enough to show an almost paternal affection, albeit in an overtly ‘masculine’ way that wasn’t overly ‘emotional’, and then nodded his head to Peter in acknowledgement of him. It was a comfort regardless, as he knew how hard it was for Tony to show affection of any sort.

It was then that he cast one last look to both Bruce and Tony; he left the laboratory to let them discuss the details . . . he caught snippets of information, such as how the ‘waters breaking’ would wash away any ‘faecal matter’ . . . it cemented in his mind that a c-section was the only way that he would deliver this child. The whole thing left him feeling light-headed, so that he tripped by the door and was forced to grab the frame, before he turned and waved a hand to signify that he was okay. He climbed the stairs and headed towards the elevator for the floor. The music that played obnoxiously followed a rather loose theme of ‘baby’ and ‘babies’, enough that he would have to hack the music player later.

The whole situation was made worse by Tony’s rather inappropriate sense of humour, but he knew it would be even worse than that should he choose to keep the child. He could picture Pepper trying to throw a shower and decorate a nursery, wherever he eventually decided to live with the child, and he could envision Natasha greeting Wade in a terrifying manner in order to exact revenge for forcing this upon Peter. There was no way that Fury would let him work with his team, should he find out, and he would have to confront his aunt and then explain the situation to MJ. How could he tell her that he was _now_ having a child?

It was difficult to think of how he would face his best friend, just so that he could tell her that – after her miscarriage and their break-up – he would now be having a child of his own with someone else, and yet there was no way that he could hide the issue from her. He realised that he was suddenly in front of his apartment door. How much time had he lost just wandering through the Tower and thinking to himself? He opened the door and walked inside, although the person he saw inside his room was the last person he expected to see:

“Wade, what are you doing?”

Peter closed the door behind him. He felt a little disorientated from the news downstairs, as well as the fact that he hadn’t seen Wade since his disappearance, but suddenly the other man was standing before him in his lounge. The fact that he was dressed in his uniform was a little heartbreaking; Wade had _trusted_ Peter before this point, _finally_ showing his face in front of his friend, and now he hid behind a mask . . . it was a huge step backwards.

“Just picking up some of my things, baby boy,” said Wade.

“Yeah, I can see that,” snapped Peter. “You waited for me to specifically be out in order to get your stuff? Great, just great! You can’t ignore me forever, Wade, so don’t make this out to be that I’m the bad guy that you have to avoid! You have to talk to me eventually!”

“Like hell, I do!” Wade picked up a duffel bag. “It’s not my fault I cast the spell! No one told me what it did, plus it’s not like I can know it worked! I don’t know what you get up to in your spare time, do I? You have that whole mutate thing . . . people love you . . . maybe the spell failed and you just happened to be pregnant at the same time? It can’t be mine . . . I can’t have done that to you, because you’re . . . _you_! It’d be wrong.”

“Look, Wade, I don’t blame you for it . . . not like _that_ , at least. If you stand still long enough, then – yeah – I may just punch you, but I’m not -! I’m not _despoiled_ because of it! Do you honestly think so _little_ of me and so _high_ of yourself that this could somehow _ruin_ me, because _I_ don’t! You’re my friend and you cast a spell selfishly and stupidly, and I’m pissed at you because I never wanted this and it’s a huge inconvenience, but I’m not suddenly worthless because of it! You’re not so bad that you’ve ruined me!”

“Do you _know_ what’s inside you, Petey? You’ve got some twisted version of me growing in there! It’s going to be diseased and broken and have _me_ as its father! I’m going to ruin it and hurt it, because all I do is ruin and hurt people! I’m not subjecting it to that!”

“Okay, so you’re admitting that you’re the father?”

“ _I’m not the father!”_

Peter stared hard at Wade, enough that he could see the sheer fury that emanated from him. It made his muscles tense and his mouth grow wide, just as he punched hard at the air with the side of his fist, and Peter couldn’t help but think that Wade was moments from a physical confrontation. He probably only held back due to Peter’s condition. It was enough to make Peter wince and feel sick, because he couldn’t help remember how he hit MJ during her pregnancy . . . even Wade seemed to have better anger management than he did.

He hated himself for what he did to MJ, especially for what happened with Gwen, and now that this happened . . . he wondered whether it was punishment for how many people he hurt, because if this was some sort of ‘reward’ then it was blatantly unjust. Peter drew in a deep breath and walked over to the sofa. He collapsed into it with a sense of dread, unable to process what was happening to him or able to forgive himself for his past, and – suddenly – he wondered how Wade could ever hate himself, because Peter realised that he was the one that would be the bad influence on the child, not Wade. He just wasn’t ready to be a father.

“Forget it,” snapped Peter.

It was all too much and too soon. Peter fell back and let his head rest on the back of the sofa, so that he stared up at the ceiling, but he couldn’t help other than to replay all his mistakes in his mind, as he felt desperate to make amends and do right. He wanted to apologise to MJ again, even if he said those words a thousand times over, and yet it wouldn’t undo the damage that he had done to the relationship, just as it wouldn’t turn back time, and he didn’t want to bring a child into a world where he couldn’t be a good influence. Peter strove so hard to be a hero for the city, but it was different to be a hero for a _child_.

Wade walked over to the sofa and stood not far from Peter, where he threw the bag onto his back, and held it there with remarkable ease, so that his strength shone through and made him seem suddenly far larger than he was in reality. It was enough to make Peter lift his head and take notice, but he felt nervous around someone that was clearly tense and clearly capable of violence, but Peter realised that what he feared wasn’t Wade . . . rather he feared what Wade _represented_. Peter was scared of that violence, but more afraid still to bring a child into it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Petey, I just –”

“You act like such a hero!” Peter shouted. “You claim that you want to change and improve, only to run away from your responsibilities! You’re – you’re acting like a _victim_ , but you’re not and no one seems to have found the courage to _tell_ you this! I’m calling you out on your baloney, Wade! _I’m_ the one that’s carrying this child, _I’m_ the one that’s looking for help, but _you’re_ the one that’s done it! _You’re_ the one looking for sympathy!”

“Hey, you don’t know me! You don’t know what it’s like to be deformed and –”

“Save it. Tell that to the _child_ that’s growing.”

Wade reared his head back, before he bowed it just slightly forward and to the side. He seemed a strange mixture of puzzled and surprised, whilst his mouth opened enough to leave a strange indent in his mask, and Peter pouted a little at how ‘the Merc’ with the Mouth’ finally seemed at a loss for words. He rested his hand on his stomach and wondered whether their child would inherit the best or the worst of them, because he sensed that it could be a real troublemaker with the genetics that it held. Wade said petulantly:

“You shout at me way too often.”

“You looked so confused the last time, too,” said Peter with a sad smile. “I could see you look pretty shocked even through your mask, but it just seemed like you needed the wake-up call, even if I was a little harsh. You’ve been good to me, Wade, and I’m grateful for that. You stood in for me when I couldn’t fight, just as you helped me out when I thought I was going crazy, and you do so much for me . . . I don’t do enough back.”

“Yeah, well, if this is your way of paying me back, I’d prefer maybe a lifetime subscription to _Playboy_ or a cash cheque, just make it out to ‘Wade Wilson’ and not ‘Deadpool’, okay? The bank thought I was trying to rob them last time, but that may have been because I was in costume. Say, won’t be long before you won’t fit in yours!”

“Wade, just – just do me a favour and _don’t_ run off, okay? I finally got Bruce to tell me everything he knows about the process, and you don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to, so there’s no obligation for you to be a father . . .”

“So you’re keeping it? Going to build a little spider-nest?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know . . .”

He rubbed a hand over his stomach and let out a staggered sigh, although – deep within himself – he suspected that he actually knew the answer . . . the one thing he feared more than telling his friends about the pregnancy was telling them that he aborted, knowing the trauma that the women in his life had been through. Peter instinctively held tighter and shook his head, unable to think about such things. The truth was that he wasn’t the only one frightened, because Wade also felt the shock of the situation and was equally as lost.

“Well, let me know when you _do_ know?” Wade said.

“I can’t believe you’re walking away _now_.”

“I just need time to think.”

Peter stood up and walked across the room. It was difficult to respond when he knew that Wade was justified in needing space, and yet there was no stopping the way his heart raced nervously in his chest or the sweat to his palms. He wanted answers, but there was no real way to demand answers when he wasn’t able to give any in turn, leaving both men in a complete stalemate until a choice was made. He listened as Wade grabbed a few more items about the room, before he head over to the door and opened it with his foot.

“See you around, Petey,” Wade said.

The sound of the door slamming closed almost startled Peter, but it reminded him of an all too familiar sound that had his senses twitching for all the wrong reasons. It was like a sudden burst of adrenaline and relief, because it reminded him that he had a valid counter to Wade’s denial, which rested in a DNA test that was oddly easy to procure. He waited a few minutes to make sure Wade had gone, before he practically raced into Wade’s suite and headed past the gym equipment and into his bedroom.

There was an odd smell to the room, as well as takeout boxes scattered everywhere, and – for some strange reason – the wallpaper had been ripped off the far wall and there was a crack in the glass of the window, too. Peter scrunched up his nose, as he fought off the ever-present nausea, and then looked around. Wade had only cleared out the most personal of belongings, leaving a selection of dresses and uniforms, as well as odd knickknacks and magazines around the room, and his computer was still turned on to a military site that seemed to specialise in selling weapons. The sheets were unchanged and stained, just as there was a scorch mark on the carpet. Tony would _kill_ him when he saw this mess.

It was a relief, however, because it meant the huge bloodstain – complete with nauseating globs of matter – still stuck to the headrest and wall above the bed, just as there was a suspicious sock on the nightstand, and a rag on the floor that had been used as a tourniquet. Peter would have lectured Wade at any other time; the older man had a history of being used and abused for ‘science’, as such he needed to be better at keeping his bodily fluids out of reach and this -? Well, it made obtaining DNA a lot easier at least.

“Still playing Russian Roulette, Wade?” Peter asked sadly, as he looked at the wall.

It ought to be enough for a result . . .

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

# Chapter Five

“Spider-Man, watch out!”

Peter looked to the roof opposite him.

It was hard to see clearly through the smoke and debris, which was thick enough to clog in his throat and cause him to retch a little behind his mask, and he had to stop in order to breathe slowly and calm down his panic. He hated how the nausea affected his work, because even running seemed to exhaust him and the smoke seemed to sicken him. This . . . _condition_ . . . would have to be dealt with one way or another. If he chose to keep the child, he would have to quit working at some point. He wondered whether he could make that sacrifice.

He felt himself began to grow anxious again. It was difficult to make such a decision, but even harder when he threw himself back into his team. He spent the morning by his uncle’s grave, as he pondered whether his responsibility to his child could ever be greater than his responsibility to the city, and he wished – with all his soul – that his uncle was still with him, because he _needed_ someone to help him decide. Peter shook his head. It wouldn’t do to get distracted, but lately he had been nothing but distracted. The weeks were ticking by and there wasn’t long left to make a decision, and – frankly – he was beginning to grow frightened.

“Yo, Spidey! Listen to Tiger! Head’s up!”

Peter snapped out of his thoughts and looked around. Right, Sam was fending off a few aerial attacks up high, whilst Ava stood on the roof opposite him and tried to keep the Goblin within the perimeter set up, and – down below – he could see Luke and Danny rushing about to remove the civilians from the area. The Goblin was currently engaged up high, with his main attacks aimed solely at Peter and Ava, as if he held a personal vendetta or thought that he could gain an advantage by taking them out first, and right at him came –

_Shoot!_ Peter ran and gave a rolling dive, as he felt the debris and glass shards dig into his skin, where his uniform ripped in multiple places and his joints ached wildly, and he suddenly felt his stomach retch and church with the movement. The explosions continued around him. Peter pulled himself up into a kneeling position and then dove behind a wall out of sight, as he felt himself begin to hyperventilate and his throat close around him, which only added to his panic and sense of sickness. It was a horrific feeling, but made worse when he felt the bile rise up in and burn his windpipe, until he tasted acid and iron in his mouth.

There was barely enough time to roll up his mask, before he felt his stomach contents escape onto the roof below him, where the liquid fell onto the floor with a sickening sound that was both wet and somehow solid at once. The smell was beyond anything he could endure and he could see parts of his breakfast still undigested, and – in a surreal moment of complete detachment – he wondered whether he would need to ask Bruce about getting some vitamins. Even if he didn’t keep the child, he would still need _some_ nutrients himself.

“He’s coming at you from your right,” Nova called.

“Oh, give me a break!” Peter snapped.

Peter ran to the ledge. He made to jump across to the building next to him, but there was the sight of a rather familiar green face in front of him, and suddenly he felt a sense of absolute dread at his situation. This wasn’t what he signed up for! They promised him that he’d be in a support role only, not face-to-face in direct combat! Peter put a hand to his stomach instinctively and without thought, as he found himself on high alert.

He would need to prevent any blows to his abdomen, even if that meant retreat or allowing blows elsewhere, and he would need to listen more to his spider-sense. It would be easy to maybe get in a few shoots with his web, but if he missed then it would prove possibly lethal to his child, because it would leave his abdomen exposed . . . it was an unacceptable risk. He felt his spider-sense tingle and looked down to the ledge beneath his feet. _Damn._ There were cracks all over it and a small device attached to it, and – with a little press of a button in Goblin’s hand – he felt the ledge give way.

“Not that kind of break that I wanted!”

The ledge began to crumble in what felt like slow motion, so that he struggled to find his balance and slipped continuously, until – in the strangest sensation of his life – he found himself falling and falling, whilst he felt a terror that he never felt before. It was the cold sense of dread that he felt on watching Gwen fall. It was as if he was reliving that moment all over again, because he stood to lose someone again due to his stupid – _stupid_ – actions, and he couldn’t lose his child this way. He couldn’t!

“Luke, catch! _Catch_!”

“What the -?”

He didn’t hear Luke running, but he _did_ feel the arms around his legs and back. It was a few seconds later – after stopping in a jerky and sudden movement – that he felt Luke dive forward and felt himself spin on the ground, as he fell out of his friends grip. He landed a few feet from Luke, whilst some rubble fell upon his head, and he pulled himself upright so that he could stumble to a wall and brace himself against it. _No puking. No puking!_ He gasped for breath and tried to calm his body down, as Luke groaned and stood up beside him.

“Nice catch,” muttered Peter.

“You know, usually I _crush_ spiders,” Luke said coldly. “I don’t _catch_ them.”

“Maybe you should? They kill all the nasty little bugs, which is great, because then you don’t hear the buzz, buzz, buzz . . . like all the time with flies . . . _buzz, buzz, buzz_. Wait, is that -? Is that buzzing in my head? I think I need to lie down. Ready to catch me again?”

“I’d rather catch a stomach bug than catch you again. You put on weight?”

“Hey, you’re hardly a svelte supermodel yourself!”

Peter tried not to pout behind his mask. He knew that he was hardly a muscle-man like Luke, who could make women melt with ebony skin and a ripped body, but he did take _some_ pride in being fit enough to look good in a skin-tight costume. Peter pushed himself away from the wall, as the alleyway they stood in seemed to spin, and – disorientated and confused – he wondered why the brick walls seemed to move when he was sure he stood still. Luke marched past him and clapped a hand on his shoulder in a friendly acknowledgement.

They wandered out of the alley onto the street, where he saw Nova block off one end and Ava jump down close to them, which trapped the Goblin at low-level in the middle. It was only a moment later that he saw Danny deliver a few blows to the Goblin, who struck back with a huge amount of force, and again his spider-sense struck him. He felt it hard and fast, enough that he looked more carefully and saw his friend about to be on the receiving end of an explosive device. If that struck Danny, he’d be sent flying speedily past the three of them at a rate that could do some severe damage. Luke seemed to notice, too.

“Got enough web for Danny?”

“Sure, _he’s_ not morbidly obese, is he?”

“Just shoot, man! You’re too sensitive lately!”

Peter shot the web just in time. He caused a wide bridge between the two buildings, which caught Danny before he could be hurt. The blond man freed himself rather quickly, whilst Luke ran across to check on him, and – as Peter flicked his wrist a few times, worried that he may have sprained it – he saw his friends huddle together to come up with a better plan. There was the worry about how Fury would react when he found out that the webbing now blocked off an entire street, but wasn’t worth thinking too much on during the heat of battle.

There was the sound of Sam from across the street, making some sort of sarcastic comment about how he half-expected Peter to be nauseous again, because of the sudden movements, but it only served to make Peter want to web his mouth shut. They couldn’t know the truth, not yet, but that only meant that his ‘illness’ was something of a joke to them, one that they threatened that they better not catch, as well as one that made Danny and Ava insist he speak to a S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor, and his stomach churned when he thought about what would happen when he told them. They wouldn’t let him on the team, which was for sure.

Ava screamed out from across the street, as she waved a hand wildly to signal for Luke and Danny to get out of the way, and – a few seconds later – something shot by that broke the webbing and sent a flash of light out across the street. The light blinded him momentarily. He brought his hands to where his eyes ought to be, but struck only the hard material of the mask, which caused him to curse mildly under his breath. He couldn’t see anything but strange colours and shapes on his eyes, whilst he blinked rapidly to dismiss them.

It was then he felt a huge blow to his chest.

It took longer than he would have liked to work out the cause, but his vision was still blurred and there was a heavy smoke in the air. Peter rolled onto his back with a groan, before he looked up to see Ava above him, where she knelt on all fours and peered down in a way that he knew – _just knew_ – she was glaring at him through the mask, as if he ought to have sensed or spotted the attack before it came. He still didn’t quite know what aimed at him enough to make her jump at him, but he could see a huge indent in the brick-wall to his side, whilst glass from multiple windows lay shattered on the floor. It was scattered all around him, too, and the sound of crunching feet upon the glass grated upon him. It had to be the Goblin.

Peter watched as Ava climbed to her feet. She didn’t offer him her hand, which was fine when he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to stand right away in any case, but – as he eventually found his way to his feet – he saw the Goblin only a few feet from them, with the rest of their team distracted by various troubles about them. Peter touched a hand to his stomach, as the cold dread washed over him, almost like cold water being poured over his skin, and he began to hyperventilate at the thought that he might not escape this unscathed.

“You okay, Spider-Man?”

“N-no, I feel like I’m going to puke.”

_'I want my baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back -'_

Peter blanched as he heard the strange singing voice, which caused both the Goblin and Ava to turn their heads slightly to follow the noise, but the mixture of both relief and horror caused him to gag behind his mask. He pushed the material up just enough to uncover his mask, whilst he tugged at the cloth around his neck to try and loosen it, and – as he tried to compose himself – someone dropped down directly in front of him and Ava. He pulled his mask back down and shook his head in refusal to believe what he saw.

“Oh God, okay, I really am going to be sick,” Peter muttered.

“ _Spidey’s . . . grown baby-back ribs_!”

There was a moment of simply silence, before Peter looked to see both Ava and the Goblin staring at Wade in a shared feeling of disbelief. The older man was in full uniform and carried more weapons than usual, so that it must have been difficult to keep balance with the sheer amount of guns and sword that adorned his body, and – as Wade stood before Peter – he kept his hand above his heart in a strange manner. Peter couldn’t see him from the front, but he suspected that there was something inside his hand. He was hiding something.

“W-Wade?” Peter asked. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Hush, young spider!” Wade raised his middle finger at Peter behind him. “I was just taking my morning constitutional, you know, to get the bowels moving and stuff, because regular bowel movement is way important! Only I saw my dear friends in trouble, so I swooped down to help out! You can’t expect me to leave the three of you to your doom? Wait, like _doom_ , not _Doom_ . . . you get me? Hey, Tiger, looking good!”

“Three of us?” Ava shook her head. “You hit your head too hard there. Seeing triple?”

“Nope! Three of you! Tiger, Spidey and Baby!”

“Baby? What baby?”

Peter drew in a deep breath and then looked to Ava. The confusion that she felt was rather clear, especially by the way that she placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head, and – beneath the mask – he could just about make out pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. He felt his heart race painfully beneath his chest, because he knew that his friend was incredibly intelligent and insightful. This might not be her first conclusion, because male pregnancy was impossible in their world, but eventually she would work it out. This wasn’t how he wanted her to find out, although a part of him hoped she wouldn’t find out at all. He spoke quietly:

“Wade, you need to –”

“Hey, Goblin! Look over there!”

The Goblin merely laughed and shook his head, as if he were dealing with a hyperactive child and not a grown man capable of dealing great damage. It was enough for Peter to take an instinctive step backwards, because any attack upon Wade or Ava could result in the ensuing fight involving him, and that would be bad . . . he didn’t want to risk any harm to the child, at least not like this. He looked to Ava and saw her watching the pair curiously, although she took a step back as well. Ava knew Wade well enough to get behind him.

“I am not so foolish, Wade Wilson.”

“No, I’m being serious! You need to look over there!”

“You must think me to be nothing but a –”

The scream was almost deafening.

Peter winced as he saw the blinding light, whilst Ava threw up an arm to try and block the worst of it, and through it all – just in front of him and cast in an eerie shadow – stood Wade with his arm extended . . . it was the arm that previously sat across his breast, only there clearly _was_ something in his hand and it was pointed straight at the Goblin. It looked like an experiment Tony had been working on, one meant as a temporary defence in combat, but the tech was incomplete and should have existed only in the laboratory.

It took a moment for his vision to clear, but he could see the way that the Goblin writhed and rubbed at his eyes almost manically, before S.H.I.E.L.D. agents surrounded him for capture, and suddenly the whole crime-scene was being secured. There were the sounds of what must have been Coulson, as he barked orders at his team, whilst the rest of their team rushed over to help them move to one side, so that they didn’t stand in the way of the agents. There was a glimpse of green as Danny began to observe Peter closely, as if trying to assess whether any damage was done, before he was shoved out of the way for a mass of black-and-red.

They took a few seconds to regain their vision, but – in all honesty – Peter was merely grateful that they had chosen to stand behind Wade, otherwise they may have taken the full blast and been blinded temporarily or even permanently. He drew in a deep breath and looked around him to his team and to Wade, before he cast a covert glance to his stomach and saw how his uniform was beginning to stretch. The web-pattern was already slightly distorted.

“Dude, I _told_ him to look away!”

“What the hell, Wade?” Ava took a wild swipe at him. “You could have _blinded_ us with tech like that! Where did you even _find_ something with that kind of capability? I swear I’m not covering for you, if you stole if from S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“Hey, do I look like I want Preston up my ass for stealing S.H.I.E.L.D. tech?”

“So where did you get something like that?”

“This is a gift from _the_ Tony Stark!”

Peter scoffed loudly. He knew for _absolute_ certainty that Tony did _not_ share tech with anyone, to the extent that half of his plans and components he kept entirely in his _memory_ , so that he refused to even commit his ideas to a file. It was enough that it forced Peter to fall back onto the brick wall behind him and glare darkly at Wade before him, as he genuinely wondered just whom the older man expected to believe his lies. He folded his arms and rolled his shoulders a few times. There was a horrific ache to his muscles and his wrist felt sprained.

“You’re lying, Wade,” he muttered.

“Okay, fine, I may have _borrowed_ the tech,” Wade snapped. “I was going to give it back, but – hey – what can you do, right? Look, I saved you guys, what more do you want? It’s a good job that I’ve been following you for the past few weeks, because you’d probably be a goner without me! Well, _you_ probably would have survived, as the protagonist always lives to tell the tale, but the baby would have been a goner for sure!”

“You –! You have no right – _no right_ – to follow me like this! I work hard for a living, Wade, and I work even harder as Spider-Man to save the city! I’m with my team, so it’s not as though I’m solo and you -! You want to take away my _right_ to work? This isn’t anything to do with you! It’s my life and it’s my –”

“Baby? Yeah, well, _you’re_ the one telling me it’s mine! Let me guess, you’ll screw me over for child-support if you keep it, but won’t even tell me it’s been flushed if you end up losing it? What rights do _I_ have in this? Ex _cu_ se me for being here!”

“You don’t have _any_ rights, Wade! This is _my_ choice and you’re the one who –”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “What baby are you on about?”

Peter raised a hand to his mask again, as he felt the nausea rise. He would need to ask Bruce whether there could be an emotional component to morning sickness, because stress seemed exacerbate it considerably, and suddenly he felt unable to breathe. There was a horrible tingling sensation to his fingers, which threatened to close of their own accord, and he felt a weird sense that insects were crawling over his skin. The child – meanwhile – now felt strange inside him, so that he wondered how large it must be at sixteen weeks.

Okay, so maybe he was being hard on Wade, because this would be a lot to take in. The past four weeks – with his friend mysteriously absent – would have been spent in absolute confusion, where Wade was likely unable to face his responsibilities or the truth. It was no different to how Peter _still_ felt unable to look at the ultrasound picture, just as he _still_ hadn’t been able to ask Bruce what the results of the paternity test were, and what if Wade _did_ want to be a part of the child’s life? It would probably feel like murder to Wade to abort, especially if he was having second thoughts, but . . . the choice was Peter’s. The child was forced upon him, that much was true, but – at the very least – shouldn’t _this_ be his choice?

This was _Peter’s_ body! It would be him that would have to deal with the pain of abortion, or the agony of birth . . . he felt that he already knew his decision, but what then of the emotional fallout? If he aborted, would Wade ever be able to look at him again, knowing that he had rid Wade of his child . . . his second chance? If he kept the child, could they co-parent and could support the child? They – they weren’t even _dating_! How many _friends_ parented together? Would Wade even _want_ to parent? Would Peter become a single parent? This would affect his work . . . his career . . . he _liked_ working, too.

“Is someone pregnant?” Danny asked.

Peter snapped out of his thoughts. He could _salvage_ this so the team didn’t figure it out, although it would probably take some creative spinning to make it work. He sighed and looked up at the sky with a sad smile, as he thought about how his uncle would handle it and what the best way would be to get out of it, before he cast an imploring look to Wade and realised – stupidly – the mask probably hid his expression. Still, he got the impression that Wade would have ignored him regardless. The ex-mercenary looked _pissed._

“Spidey is pregnant,” said Wade. “May be mine. My ‘maybe baby’!”

“Oh my God!” Sam let out a loud laugh. “Seriously? He’s -?

“ _Don’t you dare, Nova!”_ Peter shouted.

The entire team’s eyes fell upon him. He realised that he was leaning forward, enough that he was in Sam’s space and his teammate was forced to levitate a few steps back, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. He didn’t even realise that he’d stepped away from the wall so quickly, but he could hear his breath coming fast and heavy. The anger spread through his veins and overwhelmed him, so that his eyes felt watery and his body broke into a sweat, and – as he stepped back – he looked angrily to Wade in disgust.

It was difficult to look at the older man, because he hated what he saw. There wasn’t the cocky and contended smirk that he expected to see, just as there wasn’t the neutral expression of an indifferent man, but – instead – there was a clear frown through the material of the mask and a sharpness to his narrowed eyebrows. It was as if Wade felt he held a _right_ to ruin Peter’s life this way, as if he felt it _justified_ to ruin Peter’s run as Spider-Man and stop him from participating with his team, because how on Earth would Fury let him work now? It – it wasn’t _fair_! He never asked for this, and now – because it was _him_ that was the victim of such a spell – he couldn’t even go about his life as usual? He felt like a child!

“I thought humans couldn’t do that,” Sam asked.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ the books that Strange has lying about!” Wade explained. “Hey, ever think how weird it is that Strange could cure cancer and create world peace, but all he does is talk to ghosts and sit around in the astral plane? Lazy, if you ask me!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up,” said Ava. “You’re telling me that Spider-Man is pregnant? I’m not buying it. Anyway, even if that were true, why would he be out here fighting alongside us and not home with his feet up? I’m not saying I can envision Spider-Man as the barefoot and pregnant sort, but – come on! How did you get Fury to okay this?”

“He didn’t! At least I doubt he did! How do I get Fury to _un-_ okay this?”

“No.” Peter raised a fisted hand. “You _don’t_ decide this for me!”

“Why not? I have a _right_ to speak my mind.”

Peter shook his fist a few times, before he let out a piercing scream of frustration. The agents nearby looked towards him, whilst a reporter from further afield – caught behind police barricades – took a few photographs, and he ignored them all to try and refrain from fighting Wade, because he couldn’t _deal_ with this in the slightest. He didn’t know what rights Wade had to the baby, but surely they only _began_ when the baby stopped being a _foetus_ and actually existed _outside_ of Peter. This was _his_ body and _his_ life! He hated that these decisions were being made for him, as if he were still some nerdy kid being beaten up by Flash at school, unable to get even the smallest things right in his life!

It was then that he felt Danny put a hand on his shoulder. It was likely meant to be a small comfort, but it felt mocking and insincere to Peter in his current state. Peter shook it off and then began to pace, as he heard Wade mutter about his ‘condition’ and Sam ramble about how he didn’t think his friend ‘swung that way’, and he felt their cold stares and judgement upon him. Why wouldn’t they judge him? He always argued he was the leader and the best on the team, now he was the one to screw up in a way no one else ever could.

“We have to report this,” said Danny. “I’m sorry.”

Those words hit him harder than any he could imagine. He had thought about his aunt’s possible reaction, as well as MJ’s, but he never even considered how his team might react, and – whilst he logically knew that they were doing what was _right_ – he felt as if he were being picked on nonetheless. He looked coldly at Danny and felt grateful for the mask, because this way they couldn’t see his tears or how his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably.

“This is still _my_ team,” snapped Peter.

“Yeah, but it’s got to be _our_ decision,” Sam replied. “Dude, you should _never_ have hid this from us! Fury will have our heads when he finds out we let you fight! Plus, I would have felt _awful_ had you lost it because of me! I mean, the Goblin was about to hit you and –”

“He’s _not_ pregnant,” Ava said coldly. “Still, until we get it confirmed . . .”

“So – so you’re just kicking me out?” Peter asked.

They looked from one to another, almost as if he weren’t even there, whilst Wade began to whistle a song that sounded awfully familiar and not all too pleasant. Peter looked to Ava, as he hoped to see someone that would understand, because – after all – she was the _only_ one capable of bearing a child, thus she ought to have _some_ empathy for his predicament, but she merely stood with arms folded and looked straight at him. It was impossible to judge her facial expressions, but he could see for a fact how serious Danny looked at a glance.

He took a step back away from them all. It was getting harder to breathe, whilst when he looked at Wade he felt conflicted at best, unable to work out just _how_ he felt, but he knew that he had a _duty_ to the city! Peter ran a hand over his face and drew in a shuddered breath, as he thought about the excuses S.H.I.E.L.D. would give for his temporary disappearance, just as he wondered whether he would even be allowed to return. The Goblin was gone from sight, whilst the agents around seemed almost finished with the area, and there was nothing left other than for them to report back in with Fury . . . they could stop him being a part of the team, but he couldn’t stop him from being Spider-Man.

“Fine, I can still fight solo,” said Peter

The look that Danny sent him was pretty cold at that, whilst Wade actually made to step forward, stopped only by Luke’s arm in the way. Peter genuinely felt afraid that Wade was seconds away from slicing off his friend’s arm, but instead he only gave Luke an incredibly dark look and let his body tense to considerable amounts, whilst an agent from a far whistled and signalled for them all to get out of the area. Sam gave a small sigh and said kindly:

“Aw, come on, Spidey, you -!”

“Go to hell, Sam!”

Peter felt trapped. They were all around him and there wasn’t any way to avoid the confrontation, especially when they all seemed in agreement that he was no longer going to be on the team, but he knew that he didn’t have to be attacked like that, judged by them and told what to do by them. He shook his head and shot a web high across to a building nearby, before he began to swing quick out of the way, even as Sam called after him and Ava tried to keep up with him. He outran them with his webs, as he headed to Stark Tower.

At least one choice was his alone . . .

 


	6. Chapter Six

# Chapter Six

“Okay, I know it looks bad, but I –”

Pepper struck him.

It was far from a hard or serious blow, but it was enough to shock him into stillness. Peter could feel his cheek sting quite painfully, whilst his head was forced to the side with the force of the slap, and he couldn’t help other than to blink rapidly. It made his eyes water and his jaw ache. He eventually lifted his head back up into a normal position and raised a hand to massage the side of his face, as he looked to Pepper and felt an intense rush of both guilt and something akin to fear. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so angry.

There was a silence in the room, which caused Peter to take a step back awkwardly, as there was something rather disconcerting about having all eyes on him out of his uniform, but he tried to ignore the pressure that was suddenly upon him. He looked away from the others. It was an awful feeling, because the only other place to look was at _Pepper_. Peter could see how upset she was, as her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were as flushed as his felt at that moment, and she looked as if she had stepped fresh out of a meeting. The suit she wore was smart and professional, but it seemed out of place on someone so heartbroken.

“Honestly, I can explain,” said Peter.

“No,” snapped Pepper. “No, you can’t explain! Honestly, Peter, is that what you used this time for . . . a _cover_ story? Well, let’s be clear on this; while you were sneaking into your apartment and changing your clothes, I was talking to Phil about your little adventure. I know that you snuck out as Spider-Man. I know you were in a fight with the Goblin. I know that you nearly were seriously _hurt_! Tell me: can you explain that?”

“I could have taken the Goblin even in my condition!” He pouted when Pepper let out a scoff of indignation. “This wouldn’t have even been an issue until Wade showed up! The team wouldn’t have known I was pregnant and you wouldn’t have known I was fighting!”

“So as long as we don’t _know_ you’re in danger, it’s okay to _be_ in danger?”

“That’s – that’s not what I’m saying!”

Peter gave a sigh. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, whilst he looked around the living room for some support, but the rest of the room’s occupants merely stood in silence and watched him. The jumper he wore barely hid the lump to his abdomen, which made him wonder about how long he could continue to hide this, and – worse still – they told him the changes to his physiology were fundamental, so would his child inherit this ability to bear young, too? He looked to Pepper again and opened his mouth to speak.

“No, save it, Peter,” she snapped.

“They kicked me off the team, anyway.”

“Good! _Good!_ Do you have _any_ idea how much you mean to us? You could have _died_ out there, Peter! This isn’t even _about_ the child; this is about _you_ and what could have happened to _you_! What would have happened had you taken a blow to your stomach? We don’t have enough information about this pregnancy to -! You could have _bled_ to death or sustained a serious injury or -! We could have _lost_ you, Peter! You could have _died_!”

Peter winced at her words. It was a rather extreme possibility, but it was a possibility nonetheless, and he felt a wave of coldness wash over him. He let a hand fall down over the wool on his stomach, where he rested his hand over it and stroked lightly, and he wondered whether he could have lived with the guilt of losing his child in such a way. It would have been karma in a way, to know what Pepper and MJ went through firsthand after how awful he had been in his relationship with MJ, but the child didn’t deserve that.

“That’s the worst case scenario,” he muttered.

“ _Save it!_ I can’t even _look_ at you right now.” Pepper shook her head. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I really am, but I’m so _angry_ at you! I’m going to finish my work for the day, but – when I get back – we’re talking about this. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” replied Peter.

It was hard to argue with her anger, especially when he thought about how his aunt would have felt losing him, too . . . his parents, his uncle, but then him, too? It would have _destroyed_ May, which wasn’t to mention how Pepper would feel either, as – unable to have children of her own – she had grown to see Peter as something close to a son. The likelihood of his death was slim, but they really knew so little about the pregnancy . . . Thor and Sam seemed familiar with the concept, but they wouldn’t have the knowledge to save him _and_ the child should anything go wrong, and so many things _could_ go wrong . . .

“Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s hope Steve can talk some sense into you.”

Pepper marched over to the elevator, which opened in anticipation of her, before she climbed inside and turned to glare darkly at the young web-crawler. The sound of her heels against the floor echoed about in his mind, even as she stood still, and the final sight he saw – as the doors closed with a soft thud – was Pepper as she tried to hide a stray tear. He felt sick to his stomach, but this time due to the shame at having hurt someone so close to him, especially when he knew how Pepper always strove for stoicism and professionalism.

It took him a long moment to look away, as he watched the doors close and the elevator descend, but – when he turned to face the room – he hated what he saw around him, as he realised that all eyes were upon him once more. Bruce sat on one of the sofas, with his legs apart and his hands clasped between them, whilst he looked at them with a sad sort of reverence that said he was likely mediating to retain control. Steve, meanwhile, stood by the windows and looked out across the city with a sad eye, as if he were mentally elsewhere and not caught in such a dark situation. Tony merely sat by the bar with a drink.

Peter watched as Tony looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgement, before he walked over – incredibly steady and sober – and sat down not far from Bruce, before he used his drink to signal for Peter to sit opposite. It looked like his drink was virgin tonight, which meant that either Steve had convinced him to lay off or he felt that he needed to be in a clear mind, and both of those options worried Peter, because both meant that he was about to be lectured or be forced into a discussion that he didn’t want. It felt as if _every single choice_ of his was being slowly stripped away from him, so that all that was left was the choice of a foetus whose brain development was so low that they couldn’t yet survive _without_ Peter, and he wasn’t sure whether he could endure that kind of debate with them.

“Do you want this baby, Peter?” Tony asked.

The question caught him off-guard. It forced him to look about the room, only to see that Steve now stood at the end of one sofa to gaze upon him, whilst Bruce continued to look down silently. The windows were red and alive with the sunset, as they showed a beautiful view across the city, and he wondered whether his team were still out there, just as he wondered whether Wade was still with them. Peter bit his lip nervously.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked in reply.

“What Tony means is pretty simple,” said Steve. “It’s been four weeks and you still haven’t made a decision whether to keep the baby or to abort the baby. You’ve now entered battle, which puts you and your baby at risk, and that sends out some warning signals. It tells me that you aren’t afraid of taking risks. If a person is not afraid of risking their unborn baby, it probably means that they aren’t afraid of _losing_ their baby.”

“Look, it’s not like that! I’m not fighting as Spider-Man because I _don’t_ care, but just because I care about the city and the people in it! It’s not _fair_ everyone keeps telling me what I should and shouldn’t do! It’s my baby and my life and my choice! I – I just wanted for it to be _my_ choice to give up being Spider-Man, too . . . on _my_ terms.”

“Oh, sure,” muttered Tony. “That’s not selfish at all.”

“No, but it’s fair.”

Peter pouted and dropped back on the sofa. He worried that he was starting to take too much after Tony, because it felt rather petulant to effectively sulk, but he was just so _tired_ of being talked over and not having anyone _listen_ to him. These were his decisions to make, but every step of the way was such a challenge and filled with people telling him what he should or shouldn’t do next. He ran a hand over his face and tried to calm down, as he counted to ten in his mind and tried to remember to relax as Bruce taught him.

There was a long hiss of air from Bruce, who lifted his clasped hands to rest just under his nose, as he tapped them a couple of times to distract himself. Peter noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, as well as the way he continued to keep his head low, and he appeared to fidget a little with his feet too, as if he were fighting for control over himself. It didn’t take too long for the older man to drop his hands with a sigh, before he ran a hand over his face and looked to Peter almost pleadingly. The expression was one that Peter hardly ever saw; Bruce was a man that sometimes implored, yes, but there was a sense of _pity_ in his eyes.

“Do you want to keep the child?” Bruce asked.

There couldn’t be any harder question to answer. Peter dropped a hand to his stomach again, as he realised that the skin had become much firmer, and already he had gained a substantial amount of pounds. He heard Sam refer to it as a ‘beer belly’ and Ava as ‘baby fat’, with the latter being much more right than she probably ever guessed, and – as he drew in a staggered breath – he realised that at some point the child stopped being an ‘it’ and began to be ‘the baby’ and ‘the child’. He swallowed hard and realised that he answered the question a long time ago, even if he hadn’t been consciously aware of it. This was _his_ baby inside.

“Yeah,” Peter admitted. “Yeah, I do. I want to keep it.”

“Then, from now on, your child comes first,” said Bruce calmly. “The only choice you have is whether you want to continue the pregnancy or whether you want to abort. Now you’ve chosen to continue, it means that you have a duty to protect the child and to be responsible during your pregnancy, because you’ve made a commitment to carrying this child and to keeping it safe. That’s just the way it is, Peter, but remember that’s _your_ choice.

“If you want to give the child up for adoption, I can arrange that. I just need you to know that _raising_ a child will mean giving up a _huge_ amount of control, which – you have to admit – seems to be a big issue for you at the moment, so it’s something that you _need_ to consider. You won’t be able to control a child’s wants or needs, just as you won’t be able to stop people from offering you wanted and unwanted advice, because _everyone_ will have an opinion on what they think you ought to do and what’s best. Your life won’t centre around Spider-Man, because it will revolve around the child . . . _your_ child.”

The silence that fell was heavy enough to become suffocating, so that Peter was forced to look around at the three Avengers that were around him, and he wondered what they thought about the whole situation. Everyone, except Tony, seemed to be reluctant to just say what _they_ wanted and what _they_ would do, whilst all the while trying to make him _decide_ and confine him to the tower. He half-wished that he could simply fly away like the Falcon or Nova, because he just wanted space to think. It was overwhelming.

“Do you think you can handle that responsibility?” Steve asked.

He realised that Steve was staring at him. It was enough to make him feel somewhat uncomfortable, but he instead listened to the noises all around him, as he sought for some form of distraction. There was a whirring noise from afar, which was likely the air-conditioning that kicked in, whilst Tony’s phone seemed to constantly buzz on vibrate, even as he ignored it and swirled his drink in his hands, and Bruce still seemed unsure of himself and whether he ought to be there. It was clear they were as worried as he felt.

“There’s no greater responsibility than being a parent,” muttered Peter.

“Well, I like to think running a company is a bigger responsibility,” replied Tony with a smug smile and a raise of his eyebrow. “If you screw up, it’s just one kid that’s in therapy. If _I_ screw up and stocks go down, that’s thousands of businessmen throwing themselves off a roof and my suits being used to pick pieces from the pavement. I think it’s pretty clear which one is worse, although I bet Steve here would disagree.”

“Thanks, Tony. It’s nice to know that I can still smile . . . I was starting to think that I might never smile again. It’s just -! I _know_ that if I raise the child, I have to put them first, but at the same time -! I just . . . I just _hate_ knowing that I’m going to have to give up my freedom, especially when I didn’t even _ask_ for this. What if I -? What if I resent them for it?”

“Then you ship them to boarding school,” said Tony with a wink. “Worked for me.”

“Oh, yeah, that worked _wonders_.”

Peter let out a sincere laugh, whilst Bruce let a small smile pull at the corner of his lips. It was enough to break the tension, but – at the same time – the fear of resenting his child was a real one that he had to face, and it felt as if nothing would destroy that fear. He knew of so many stories where women would fall in love with their child upon holding it, where they claimed to forget all the pain, but what if that child served as a permanent reminder of all that he sacrificed and all the suffering he would endure? They deserved better than that.

They sat still for a while, until Steve got up to sit next to Peter and placed a hand on his shoulder to offer him some comfort, which was enough to make Peter feel safe and secure, just so long as he could stay in the tower with these men and never leave. The touch was firm enough that Peter almost felt that it might bruise, but he remembered how long and hard the older man worked on controlling his strength. It felt cold when he moved his hand away, so that he almost missed the touch, and suddenly he realised how long it had been since he opened up to anyone. He felt alone, even with the child inside of him.

It wasn’t long before he began to stroke light circles on his stomach, as if he could somehow feel less alone with a connection to the child, and – in a moment of dread – he foresaw people touching his stomach needlessly and rubbing at him like a pet. He saw it happen way too often with pregnant women, and he felt cold at the prospect that soon even his right to personal space would be revoked. It wouldn’t be so bad for Wade to do it, as it was his baby and he was Peter’s best friend, but for everyone else? How would they react, too?

“You’ll have our full support,” said Bruce.

“I – I know,” Peter muttered. “I guess that also means I’ll have to look at the ultrasound and paternity results, because – hey – it’s all real now, right? I don’t even know what any of this means, too, especially with Wade . . . what if he doesn’t want it?”

“This isn’t about Wade,” interrupted Steve. “What do _you_ want, Peter? Why did you put yourself in harm’s way? You said you want this child . . . I’m glad, because – honestly – I think that you’ll be an amazing father with time, so long as you try not to put too much pressure on yourself. I can’t figure out why you’d put yourself in a situation where you and the baby could be hurt, though, especially when you’re smarter than that.”

“I guess I just wanted the best of both worlds. I want to _help_ people and use my powers for _good_ , and when I saw my team out there fighting and training -! I _knew_ there were people suffering and that my team could use me! I don’t want what happened to Uncle Ben to repeat itself! I don’t want someone to die knowing _my_ powers could have saved them!”

“Hey, your team can handle that. You trust them, don’t you? You work alongside them and you trust them to have your back? Well, _trust them to have yours_! They won’t let you down, I swear to you. Your powers are to _defend_ people, so _defend_ your child.”

“Use my abilities to make sure that they’re safe?”

“Exactly. You can do that.”

There was a snort from Tony, even as Bruce elbowed him in his side subtly, and Peter smiled as he watched the two men shoot each other strange looks, as they communicated an entire conversation without a single word. Peter gazed out of the window and wondered whether he would ever have a relationship like that again, as there wouldn’t be time to make new friends and any potential partners would be a problem, because who would want to date a mutant with a child? He feared becoming a social pariah. It was one sacrifice after another.

“You’re right. I’ll throw my costume into storage.”

“You promise?” Steve asked.

“I promise.”

There was something of a relief in saying those words, because _finally_ the decision was made and he no longer needed to deliberate or worry. He looked around to see that Steve wore a bright smile, although there was a slight hint of sadness, as if he strove to hide his feelings in order to put Peter at ease, whilst outside the sky turned black and suddenly a darkness descended upon the city. The thousands of lights from the buildings below were beautiful as always, but they felt a cold comfort when he felt so afraid at how things would progress.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” said Tony.

“Well, there is one thing,” replied Bruce awkwardly. “He still needs to tell May.”

The room suddenly felt empty. It was as if they had dropped a bombshell upon him, before leaving him entirely alone to deal without any help or comfort. He felt his heart begin to race within his chest, just as his breath escaped him completely, and he looked down to the floor and stared hard upon a stain that he couldn’t decipher. There was no way that he could look up into Bruce’s eyes, because to do so would be to acknowledge what was just spoken, and – in all honesty – there was no way that he could do such a thing. It was too much.

  
He loved his aunt so very much, appreciative of all that she did for him over time, but that was why he couldn’t turn to her with this issue. It would worry her and make her panic, at the very least, as she tried to work out how this would impact Peter’s life and how they would deal with it, whilst she would ask over and over questions that he felt as if he had already answered a thousand times over with the Avengers and Pepper. What if she felt this too much to process? He didn’t want to alienate her or be kicked out, although she never seemed that sort of personality, but then he never seemed the sort to be pregnant! He couldn’t look at her and see the shame or pity or disgust . . . he couldn’t risk seeing those things . . . 

“No,” Peter muttered. “No. I can’t!”

“Peter, I – I can understand, I honestly can,” said Bruce sadly. “It can’t be easy to tell someone you love something like this, but . . . it’s necessary to protect her. Your team knows, don’t they? Sam will tell MJ, who’s still in touch with your aunt . . . even if – even if she doesn’t tell her, don’t you think she might notice? You’re already beginning to show.”

“No! You – you don’t understand! My aunt . . . I don’t . . . I know she loves me, but we’ve never even _talked_ about homosexuality or pregnancy or anything like this! I mean, I’m a _guy_ , the talk was left to my uncle and even then it didn’t include the prospect of _me_ being pregnant, and I was dating Gwen and MJ . . . how am I going to explain that I’ve broken all the rules of biology and have a _child_ inside of me? How can I explain that – no – I’m _not_ gay, but the other father is a _man_ and that it’s _his_ child?

“Oh God, it’s taken me _weeks_ to work out that I want it! What if she thinks it’s an abomination or an inconvenience? I – I don’t think she _supports_ abortion, but when the child is result of a spell gone wrong and it’s changed my body into something alien? She might think it’s better to get rid of it. I – I would have to argue with her and fight her on it, plus what if she kicks me out? What if I’m suddenly without a job and without a place to live? My apartment in Stark Tower was always a back up; I can’t make it my main residence! How am I going to register the birth, too? I’ll have to pretend I’m a mutant or something and –”

“Hey. Hey! You need to breathe, Peter! You’re thinking too far ahead! Remember, you have to take this one step at a time. Your aunt loves you unconditionally and is a good woman, so she’ll support you through this no matter what. Do you want one of us there with you?”

“To – to talk to her? No, I’ll end up relying on you to do all the talking.”

“Okay, so you’ll do it yourself?”

Peter drew in a deep breath and placed both hands on his stomach. There was the ultrasound that he still hadn’t looked at, as well as the paternity test results, and he was beginning to show enough that he couldn’t wear tight clothing. They were right; he wouldn’t be able to hide it soon, not to mention that it was possible MJ or Sam could tell his aunt, with the latter especially being a very good friend of May’s, and what if she heard it from someone else first? He owed her the truth, but what was the truth? How could he explain this?

“She’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

He dropped his head into his hands and rested his elbows onto his knees, as he groaned loudly and tried to block out the lights and sounds. Bruce reached across and took a hold of one knee, where Peter felt his cold touch against his arm and heard the sigh from his mouth, and after a few seconds he pulled away and looked awkwardly between Steve and Tony. It was enough to make Peter raise his head, where he ran a hand through his hair nervously.

“It’s not your fault, Peter,” said Bruce.

“I – I know, but I’ll have to explain about the spell. I’ll have to explain that _I’m_ Spider-Man and I’ve been lying to her all this time, so how will she forgive me for that? I’ll have to tell her about Wade and she’ll ask what we’re going to do and -! I don’t _know_ what I’m going to do, so how am I going to answer her? What if I _don’t_ tell her?”

“Then in a couple of months she’ll ask why you’re smuggling a basketball in your sweater,” said Tony dryly. “That or she’ll wonder how long until you’re convicted for having kidnapped the strange kid with you all the time. She might notice eventually.”

“Oh God, it’s not just Aunt May, is it? I’ll have to give work a reason why I’m leaving.”

“That one’s easy! Just resign! You’re freelancing anyway, right?”

“I still _owe_ them an explanation!”

Tony scoffed at that. It was enough to make Peter look at him with a dark stare, as he fought back an urge to chastise the older man about his work ethic, before he wondered _how_ he was going to make a living after this. He would need a steady income, which he might be able to get from teaching, but then he always enjoyed working with Bruce, which was another option, and yet he _loved_ photography! It was his passion and his sole joy at times when life felt so dark, and yet how could he make a living from that? If May kicked him out, what would he do without a steady job and a real place to live except the tower?

“What if she hates me?”

“That won’t happen,” said Steve. “Unconditional love, remember?”

“Right,” Peter mumbled. “Easier said than believed.”

“She wouldn’t approve of you assuming the worst about her.”

“She wouldn’t approve of this at all.”

Peter thought to his aunt and how much he loved her. It wasn’t that he needed her approval in particular, but she had been such an important factor in his life. He thought about how she supported him when Ben died, just as how she always seemed so active and full of life, and how she didn’t even question when his team needed a place to crash in his teens. It was true that she was selfless and wanted what was best for everyone, but what if she thought this wasn’t what was best for Peter? What if she wanted him to be without child?

It was then that he noticed Bruce was staring at him, as if unsure whether to speak and reassure him, and yet he saw a slight glaze to his eyes. The older man was tired, but he strove to help Peter nonetheless, because Peter _mattered_ to him. It made him smile, because so often Bruce would be reluctant to give advice . . . he would claim not to be ‘that kind of doctor’, whilst once he even fell asleep when Tony began a tirade . . . still, he knew how much Peter valued his opinions and his presence. He may never tell Peter what he thought the younger man _should_ do, but he was willing to act as a sounding board and listen whenever it was needed, for which Peter was grateful. He looked away awkwardly in embarrassment.

They clearly awaited an answer, which was hard to give. To say he would speak to his aunt would be to give his word, which would commit him to a course of action that he wasn’t willing to take, but he knew – rationally and emotionally – it wasn’t something that he could keep secret from her. It would be wrong to lie to her, to say the least, but he also couldn’t hide it forever, especially now he made the decision to keep the child and to birth it.

“Okay, I’ll tell her tomorrow,” said Peter.

“Good,” Bruce replied. “It means I have time to check you over. I want you in my office in an hour, okay? It’ll give you time to fill your bladder for another ultrasound and for you to get a good meal inside of you. I’m sure you’ll be okay, but after your fight –”

“Sure, I’ll be there dead on the hour. Er, can I go now? I need to think.”

“Ah, the ultimate mental strain,” Tony joked.

Bruce sent Tony a dark look, before Tony looked down at his drink and then pushed it in front of the other man with a childish expression, with eyebrows raised in mock innocence and mouth partially open in mock surprise. It took Bruce only a moment to snatch the drink from him and down it, which left Tony appearing speechless and _genuinely_ taken aback, as he likely supposed he would be chastised for teasing and not taken up on his insincere offer. Peter laughed at his friends’ antics and stood up carefully.

“Sure, I’ll see you in an hour.”

It was a relief to see Steve stand up, although he did it out of manners alone, and walk with him to the elevator doors, whilst Tony immediately began to ramble almost aimlessly, as Bruce occasionally shot out one-word replies. He waved at the two men in acknowledgement of them both, until he reached the elevator and nodded to Steve. The older man clapped a hand on his shoulder again, as he gave Peter a hard – yet somehow reassuring – look, as if he were trying to communicate with him that everything would be okay. Peter smiled in gratitude, before he climbed into the elevator and began the descent to his apartment. He felt alone suddenly, so that he was forced to hold his stomach for comfort.

He exited on the floor to his suite, before he headed straight for his room. It was pretty small compared to Wade’s, but he never intended to make the apartment his main place of residence and it had only ever been intended as a place to crash, and now he found himself wondering whether he _could_ live here. If his aunt kicked him out, where would he go? Peter shook his head and headed straight over to his chest of drawers. He opened the top one and felt a sense of security as he thought about what was hidden away . . . just in case.

It was difficult to look at what was inside. The costume was still slightly damp with sweat and dew from the humidity outside, whilst there were a few scuffs around the limbs from where he tumbled earlier, and a part of him felt conflicted. He wouldn’t be able to wear this for so long, which was a sacrifice he was prepared to make, but what if something bad happened . . . an emergency? What if the city _needed_ him? He shook his head. The material was cold to the touch, whilst closing the drawer felt like closing a chapter on his life, and – as it slid closed – it provided a relief just to know that it _was_ there . . .

“Just in case,” he whispered.

 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

# Chapter Seven

“W-Wade?”

Peter looked to his friend.

He hadn’t expected to see Wade at such a time or place; to be honest, he hadn’t expect to see Wade _at all_ after how they last parted, but clearly the older man didn’t hold a grudge regarding what happened during their last meeting. The ex-mercenary stood at the bottom of the steps to the house, where he looked down at the pavement with an expression that was impossible to see, let alone to read, and kicked at the ground with a nervous gesture. It would have made Peter worry at any other time, as it was distressing to see Wade upset, but . . .

Wade had _four weeks_ to show up! He could have appeared at any time to discuss the pregnancy, but instead he showed up whilst Peter stood under the porch to his aunt’s house, where he prepared to tell her the truth. Peter wondered which Avenger told him. There was no other way that Wade would have known where he would be, and – after how he told everything to his team without Peter’s permission – that just like even more of a violation of trust than before. Peter felt his hands ball up into fists, whilst he glared down at Wade and tried to remain calm given the situation. He just couldn’t believe that he would show up _now_!

“What are you _doing_ here, Wade?”

There was nothing but a shrug from the older man. He looked rather cold in his outfit, with his hands balled up inside the pockets of his jacket, and he seemed to wear only a loose t-shirt beneath the thin material. The webbing-pattern on the shirt was almost endearing, whilst his baseball cap – mostly hidden under a oversized hood – bore the ‘DP’ logo, and Peter almost wanted to invite him inside to make sure that he had the chance to warm up. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, as if he’d caught the worst of the cold wind.

“Just here for emotional support,” Wade muttered.

“Uh-huh? Well, I could have done with that _weeks_ ago! I get that you were shocked and needed time to process everything, but do you _get_ how hard this was for me, too? I had to decide what to do _alone_. I could have done with a friend. Why do you want to help now?”

“Hey, give me a break, Petey! I’m here now, ain’t I? I turn up at your apartment and Papa Stark is all: ‘ooh, Petey’s gone to his aunt’s, you better get there now or he’ll cry his eyes out and stuff’! So I turn up here to make sure you’re all okay. I got showed the paternity results by Mean and Green, too, so I spent some time thinking about what Preston said. I didn’t do right by Ellie, but I’m doing right by her now . . . I want to do right by the kid, too.”

“Yes, but -!” Peter drew in a sharp breath. “Now? _Now?_ I’m here to tell my aunt – the woman who _raised_ me – that I’m carrying _your_ child, but _you_ want to turn up here and have a heart-to-heart? This isn’t the time, Wade! If you’re so determined to ‘do right’ by this child, you can’t just show up when is convenient for _you_!”

“Just because you’re clearly carrying for two, doesn’t mean you get the attitude of two!”

“Are – are you saying that I look _fat_?”

Peter looked down at his stomach. It was rather large at just over four months, but it wasn’t large enough for him to buy any new clothes, which was a relief when his budget barely extended to a long lunch . . . let alone maternity clothes. He paled at that realisation. There wouldn’t be long before it wouldn’t be enough to leave his trousers unbuttoned, because soon he would be too big for his clothes and then -! Then what? He couldn’t be seen shopping for women’s maternity clothes, but he couldn’t exactly wander around _naked_.

He touched the growing lump, which made him realise that his jacket barely did up around it, and a part of him felt grateful that he _was_ now single. It was a scary thought to realise that soon he would no longer be able to fit into his costume, no longer attractive to those around him, but scarier still to think that he _could_ have still been with MJ, which would have meant explaining this to her for whole other reasons, then trying to accommodate a relationship around an extra-marital child. Wade climbed the steps and lifted his hand – now scabbed and with open sores – before he pulled it back, as if afraid to touch the lump.

“You’re not fat,” said Wade. “You just look like you _ate_ a fat person.”

Peter broke at that moment. He felt the rage come bursting forth, as he remembered that this was all _Wade’s_ fault and that he was _sacrificing_ so much to carry this child, and Wade – the one other person that this actually effected, that should _understand_ his predicament – was mocking him! It was in Wade’s nature to tease and provoke, especially so when he used it as a defence mechanism and he clearly wanted some distance from his feelings, but this was by far the most insensitive he had ever been. It was enough to make him raise his fist.

It was clear that Wade’s instincts were as sharp as ever, whilst Peter’s reflexes were dulled, because the older man missed his fist by a half-an-inch. Wade’s hood fell to reveal a face covered with sores, with his eyes watery and filled with fear, but the hood fell back and hid his expression again. Unfortunately, the distraction and quick movement was enough for Peter to hit the doorframe instead. He held back a curse and shook his hand. _Damn Wade!_

“Hey! It’s not my fault you went from Spider-Man to Shamu-Man!”

“Oh, I swear to God that I’m going to –!”

_‘Peter? What are you doing?’_

May’s face appeared behind the glass of the door. It was lucky that Peter only struck the frame, which caused the glass to rattle and yet – _thankfully_ – not to break, and yet his hand stung so much that he found himself hopping from foot to foot, whilst he sucked at his knuckles, in hopes of reducing the swelling. The healing factor would get the worst of it, but it would still be red and sore in the meantime. He glared harshly at Wade.

The older man turned his body at an angle, so that May couldn’t se his face from beyond the pane of glass, and hunched his back with his hands firmly in his pockets. He could almost pass as the same height of Peter in such a position, but Peter tried to ignore his apparent insecurity – always so wary and insecure without his mask – and turned to face the door with a forced and insincere smile. It took all his self-control to lower his hand to his stomach, where he held onto it with his free fist, and tried not to jerk about too much in order to hide the pain that he felt. His aunt opened the door with a frown of disapproval.

They stood in silence for a while, although he was _certain_ that he could hear Wade sniggering to the side, even as his aunt glowered at them both and looked to the ex-mercenary with a reasonable level of wary scepticism. May looked healthy and happy overall, as she wore an attractive suit and tidied her grey hair into a fashionable style, and – judging by the scents from the back – she had been cooking with Sam again, which meant that there were probably leftovers about. He silently prayed for gingerbread, as his mouth watered.

“How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough that I’d be grey had I any hair!” Wade said with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Ms May. I’d – er – shake, but I think that’s a bad idea today. I don’t mean to be rude and all, so I’ll try and shake your hand next time instead, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, er, not at all? You’re Peter’s friend, right?”

“Sure am! Best friend, actually!”

Peter let out a sharp hiss of breath. He would admit that the title of ‘best friend’ would probably go to MJ, but he would also admit that he had a relationship with Wade that he lacked with anyone else . . . they had something special. It was difficult, however, to admit that when his fist ached and Wade had forced his way into a private meeting with his aunt, especially to announce himself as ‘best friend’, but he knew to pick his battles with the older man and this wasn’t worth fighting about. He also didn’t want to hurt Wade.

The older man was sensitive beyond anything that Peter had ever felt, to the point that he took self-loathing to whole new levels, and today he wouldn’t even allow himself to shake hands with his aunt, due to his self-consciousness about his skin. It hurt Peter to see him in such a way, because usually it meant that Wade was in great pain. The last time this happened, Peter walked into his apartment to see the older man rocking in a corner muttering ‘it hurts’ over and over, until Peter drew him a bath and convinced him to let his skin soak, which – apparently – worked to an extent. He realised suddenly that Wade must have been in great pain, so that even standing there was a sacrifice in itself.

“Aunt May, can we come in? We need to talk.”

“You have to ask to come into your own house?” May laughed kindly. “I can’t believe that you even have to ask that, Peter! Come on in, both of you, and – next time – don’t loiter on the porch! I’ve just made tea, so you can help yourselves. Does this involve your friend?”

“It sure does!” Wade said. “I’m Wade Wilson, but you can call me Captain Awesome! If that doesn’t stick then just plain ‘Wade’ will do, which is what most people call me . . . except Bob! Bob’s been calling me ‘Captain Awesome’, but I’m getting bored of that, plus I’m not a captain any longer, so -! Wait, where was I? Oh yeah! I’m here for emotional support, because Petey needs me here! I was a bad friend lately, so I’m going to be good now!”

“That’s lovely, but will you take off your cap? It’d be nice to see your face.”

“You won’t want to see that,” he muttered quietly.

Wade pulled his hand out of his pocket. It was easy to note how there was a convenient hole in the sleeve, which allowed Wade to push his thumb through and hide most of his hand, and – as he pulled off his cap – he turned around in turn. He cast a rather pained look to Peter, who thought that his friend had been making good progress with his self-confidence until recently, and so he placed a hand on Wade’s shoulder and shot him a warm smile. Sure, he was _pissed_ at Wade, but he couldn’t bear to see him look so hurt.

“See, you look much more handsome,” said May kindly. “Now, let’s go inside.”

They made their way inside into the kitchen. Wade stopped along the way to look at a baby photo of Peter on the wall, which made his heart break a little. It was hard not to wonder whether Ellie even _had_ baby photographs, let alone any that existed in Wade’s possession, and then there was the terrifying thought that soon they would have a whole wall of baby photos of their own to share with the world. Peter still had no idea where he would live, let alone how custody would work, and seeing photos on the wall made it so _real_.

He poked Wade in the back childishly, then nodded to the kitchen, where his aunt already laid out a few cups of tea in anticipation of them. May stood with her back to the kitchen counter and the cup in her hands, warming them against the cold, whilst the two men sauntered in and found places to stand. Peter found a spot by the door, whilst Wade stood frustratingly close to him, as if he were incapable of standing on his own, but – when Peter turned to glare at him – he saw that Wade was biting his lip to the point that little specks of blood were forming, not to mention he was white as a sheet.

“Are you okay, Wade?” May asked.

The older man reached back to pull at his hood, until it was as far forward as it would go, and Peter saw his free arm wrap around his body. It amazed him in the difference in persona. This was the same man that shamelessly thought his body to be the best, as well as flirted with anything that moved, and could laugh off any insult . . . even out of costume he improved so much before the pregnancy . . . now he seemed to have reverted to his old self. Wade shrugged and continued to look down at the ground.

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

“Well, it’s awfully chilly, if you’d like to put your cap back on.”

“Thanks, Ms May,” said Wade. “That means a lot.”

Wade put his cap on so quickly that it was almost a blur, and then Peter finally saw a smile that made him feel reassured somewhat. He gave a small sigh, however, simply because this was meant to be a heart-to-heart with his aunt, but now he was consumed with worry about Wade and also fury that the other man could have been so selfish. The two of them needed to _talk_ about what they were going to do, but this wasn’t the place for that. This was the time he needed to tell his _aunt_ the truth: he was going to be a father.

“So, what did you boys want to talk about?”

“Well, er, first things first,” Peter said with a nervous cough. “I – ah – need to tell you . . . what I mean is . . . okay, I need to tell you that I _may_ be Spider-Man! _Don’t freak out_! I promise that it’s not a big deal and I -! Er, why are you smiling?”

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” May asked. “Peter, it’s hardly a secret at this point! I’ve never known anyone to get such an intricate lock or break curfew so often, not to mention that you once came home _black_ all over and claimed you were sweeping the chimney! You also dyed everything red-and-blue from ‘washing the flag’, not to mention the explosions in our shed with your ‘science experiments’. Honestly, it was just a matter of _when_ you told me.”

“So you – you don’t care?”

May gave him a rather sympathetic and yet stern look. It was a little patronising in a way, when he considered his age and that he was now a grown man, but he knew that she meant well and that she was trying to convey just how silly he had been in worrying. Peter looked to his side at Wade, but – for once – the ex-mercenary chose to remain silent and give them their space to talk, which was admittedly reassuring and supportive. It was difficult to digest just how easy that particular revelation had been, but he only hoped it stayed that way.

“Of course I _care_ , Peter,” chastised May.

“Oh, well I just – I mean – I thought that because –”

“How is it that Spider-Man can be so confident?” May asked. “You’re so nervous all the time, so that – even when you stand up to people – you seem afraid of the consequences, and I’ve never met anyone that can be so self-loathing at times . . . you take the world on your shoulders and blame yourself for everything. Did you think that I would hate you for keeping this a secret? I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m _indifferent_ to it either, Peter.

“I’m terrified every time you leave the house or Stark Tower. I’m terrified that one day you’ll come back only to have lost someone else, blaming yourself for what you had no control over, just like with Gwen . . . even when you were dating Mary Jane, you still spent every Valentine’s Day at Gwen’s grave, and I still suspect that you do even now. You’ve come home with so many bruises that I’ve been scared of clots and concussions, not to mention other kinds of abuse that you may have hidden from me. I’ve been scared that you’ve dealt with this alone, because you seem to hide from even your friends.”

“I – I don’t hide from my friends,” Peter said sadly. “Okay, well, maybe I do, but it’s not something that I intentionally set out to do. It’s just sometimes hard to trust Sam and the gang, whilst I think MJ fell in love with Spider-Man rather than me, and Harry and I drifted apart . . . don’t get me wrong, I know that was my fault, but I -! I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Ms May,” interrupted Wade. “I lost some real important people, as well. Like I said, Petey’s my best friend, even if he might not think of me as his! We’ve talked about this kind of stuff a lot and he knows I’ll always listen! He’s my hero!”

“Actually, Wade’s kind of right . . . plus, I can talk to Bruce about anything, too.”

“See, so Petey isn’t that alone!”

May gave a nervous smile. It wasn’t often that she opened up to him like this, because – most of the time – he tried to dismiss her concerns or shrugged them off, whilst he often simply walked away in his youth. He never wanted to disrespect her, but there never seemed to be a real worry in his view. It was only now that he thought about his unborn child, as well as all that Wade went through, that he realised sometimes it was easier than imaginable to hide the pain and the suffering . . . she had a right to worry.

They stood in silence for a while, as he tried to process his aunt’s fears and feelings, but it began to feel awkward as he craved some sort of response. He looked to Wade by his side, who was toying nervously with a cup of tea by his side, as he spun it around and around on the counter, which caused the liquid to spill over the sides. It was enough to make him look away, as he sought some sort of reassurance, but neither of them appeared willing to speak any further. There was a chill to the air, so that he wrapped his arms around himself and rested them on top of the bump. He wondered whether May noticed it.

“You could still get hurt, Peter,” said May.

“I could also get hurt crossing the street! Aunt May, the city _needs_ me! I help people and I prevent crimes and I do so much! I – I screwed up by letting Uncle Ben die, but I swore never to let that happen again and then Gwen -! Gwen . . . she . . . I – I have to keep fighting! I have to make sure the city is safe and no one gets hurt ever again, because – if I don’t what happens then? I – I’m -! Oh God, I’m drifting away from the point . . .”

“Well, what is the point? You came here to tell me that you’re Spider-Man, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I – ah – actually came here to tell you something else.”

“Well, what is it?”

Peter looked to Wade, but the older man was merely staring off into the living room, in such a way that it forced him to follow the gaze. The ex-mercenary appeared to be looking at a family photo, which was enough to spark a wave of guilt through Peter. He remembered how – on cold days like this – Ben would complain about the cold, just as he would teasingly complain about his wife forcing him to dress in warmer clothing, and Peter thought about how he would never hear those complaints again. He would never _see_ Ben again.

It was his fault, no matter what his aunt said. _This_ would be his fault, too, wouldn’t it? He could have easily have aborted by this point, so that no one even needed to know that it was an issue, and he could have gone on with his life normally. Now he chose to keep the child, he would need to face everyone and tell the truth. He would also need to decide whether to raise the child, which he was tempted to do, because that would mean risking harm to them or watching them die as he watched his uncle die . . . as he watched _Gwen_ die . . . _Harry_ die. They meant so much to him, but a baby would be a loss beyond anything he experienced with them, which was something he couldn’t even endure the _thought_ about.

He held tighter onto his stomach and wondered what his aunt would think, because she was _looking_ at him with such concern and love. How could he let her down in any way? He dreaded the idea that she might push for an abortion, as he wasn’t sure how he would react, but it surprised him how quickly the attachment to the child came once he decided that he wanted it. How easy was it to love a child? May loved Peter even though he wasn’t hers, just as she never expected him to come into her life, and if she could love a child thrust upon her in unexpected circumstances . . . maybe he could, too.

“I’m – I’m pregnant,” said Peter.

May shook enough that her cup spilled. The liquid fell onto her finger, which nearly caused her to curse, until she brought the finger to her lips to try and fight the burn. May placed the cup down on her side, whilst Wade leaned forward and turned his head, as if he were trying to assess the wound, but – when Peter remembered the older man _forgetting_ limbs don’t usually grow back – he doubted he would be good at first-aid. Luckily, May didn’t seem seriously injured, although she was seriously taken aback. She looked pale.

“That’s not very funny, Peter,” she said.

“He’s not pulling your leg,” muttered Wade. “I got to take responsibility on this one. I cast a spell without knowing what the fu – frig! I meant to say ‘frig’! Honest! I didn’t know what the _frig_ this spell did! It went all wonky and then – _boom_! Pregnant Spidey!”

“I – er – have the ultrasounds to prove it,” said Peter, as he fished around in his pocket. “I also have the results of the paternity test, which prove that it’s Wade’s, and Bruce gave me his cell number to give to you, so – so you can check. It’s legitimate. You can even see the bump, look! I just wanted you to know from me, before anyone else could say anything, because – because I owe you that! Just please don’t hate me!”

Peter made to hand her both sets of ultrasounds and the paternity results, but he pulled back his hand at the last moment and snatched away the most recent one, before he handed that to Wade and the rest to May. He watched as his aunt took them with a frown. It was clear that she was angry and didn’t believe what she heard, but she opened the envelopes and looked at the contents with a sceptical eye, whilst Wade ripped into his envelope and pulled out the ultrasound with a clumsy hold. Peter wondered what they saw when they looked.

It took him a moment, but he couldn’t help but look over Wade’s shoulder. The ultrasound looked so clear and it made everything seem so _real_ , and he could make out actual features of the child that he wouldn’t have thought possible not even midway into the pregnancy. There was a feeling that he couldn’t quite place; it reminded him of when he saw MJ’s first ultrasound, of that sense of pride and accomplishment, but it was _stronger_ somehow, as if the very act of _carrying_ the child changed how he felt about it. He could see fingers and toes, so that they actually looked like a _person_. He felt glad that he never looked at the ultrasound before, as he was certain it would have influenced his decision.

“ _How_?” May asked.

Peter jumped at her question. He hadn’t realised just how absorbed he had been by the image, just as he hadn’t realised how he had leaned into Wade’s personal space for a closer look, so that his forehead was pressed against his friend’s arm. Luckily, Peter had always been a physical person and Wade had no concept of ‘personal space’, so it wasn’t as awkward as it may have been, but May watched them with a cold and stern look. He realised that – knowing Wade was the father and seeing the faux-intimacy – she probably assumed the worst.

“The spell changed my physiology,” said Peter. “Thor thinks it’s identical to how the Jotun carry their young, which he said he knows about firsthand from recent events on Asgard, but that’s kind of off-point I guess . . . I – er – quit work at the _Bugle_ , too.”

“Easier than trying to explain this to them!” Wade joked. “Apparently he can have an ass-baby, but Bruce-Boy is opting for a c-section! It should be safe, because Petey has a healing factor that will make a slice-and-dice a piece of cake! He even has eggs and all, so he can have more kids, if he wants them! It’s all pretty easy, aside from – you know – actually having the kid and all. He’s just over four months, I think!”

“So – so you’re both . . . a couple?”

“No!” Peter cried.

May reared back slightly, whilst Wade flinched and looked away. It hadn’t been his intent to offend anyone, but the idea that _overnight_ that people would assume him gay – just for something he had no control over – infuriated him. He doubted anyone would assume a gay woman straight simply for being pregnant, but somehow he was held to a different standard, and it felt . . . he sighed . . . it felt as if it _trivialised_ his friendship with Wade to assume that any and all affection _must_ be romantic or sexual. It was possible for things to change, but they didn’t change _just_ due to a baby. A baby wasn’t a way to mend or create a relationship.

“I – I adore Wade, but –”

“He’s no interest in riding the Tunnel of Love!”

“Wade, I swear to God -!” Peter wrung his hands in threat. “It pains me to say it, Aunt May, but – if I were gay – I probably would go for Wade, because I think we could grow to be a good couple, even if it were difficult at first . . . a-anyway -! We are not – _not_ – a couple! It just happened that Wade kissed me that night and the spell just needed the DNA of the spell-caster and a person compatible with them, and – well – here we are, I guess.”

“I can’t complain,” said Wade. “I’ve loved Spidey since forever! I’m just glad he’s forgiven me, although I’m surprised he decided to keep the baby, I mean . . . that’s a bit of _me_ in there. You must have a masochist for a nephew! I don’t know whether I’m happy or sad!”

“So are you going to . . . _raise_ . . . the child together?” May asked.

“I don’t know, are we?”

Wade looked to Peter, but Peter could only look back. It was clear that Wade felt as clueless as Peter did, although that only added to his deep and primal fear, because this was one of those things that they _needed_ to talk about _together_. He realised that it was a natural question for his aunt to ask, even if Wade weren’t present, but they barely spoke more than a few sentences over the past few weeks and this was an important question. There was no way that Peter could assume something so important, but he couldn’t speak _for_ Wade either.

“Do you want to?” Peter asked.

“Nothing that I’d want more,” said Wade sadly. “I wouldn’t blame you, if you wanted to raise them alone, though. I got to ask, before I say anything more, but what about Ellie? It was a problem for Shiklah, but I get that we aren’t dating, but . . . I want Ellie to know that she’s going to be a big sister. I don’t want to put one kid before the other, either, so how do we go about that? I don’t want to . . . I want to treat them the same.”

“I – I would never exclude Ellie! I – I don’t want to think that far ahead, but – _God_! If you’re making me think about those kinds of things now, then I want Ellie to be a part of this process . . . every time you spend with our child, Ellie can be there, too, so she knows she’s a part of this. I’m – I’m not Shiklah, Wade, just remember that.”

“It isn’t just Shiklah though! I – I’m not a good father! Preston raises –”

“You _will_ be a good father. I promise you.”

They shared a brief look. It was enough that Peter could see the sadness behind those eyes, that fear that Wade never knew what true happiness was and never would, and he could see Wade sabotaging himself with ‘what if’ scenarios, before this even began. He reached out to the other man, but paused as his hand hung in the air midway . . . he didn’t want to appear condescending, but he also knew how much Wade needed reassurance, so he let his hand continue its journey and held tight onto Wade’s upper-arm.

May gave a sad smile and looked over to the two of them, as Peter squeezed once and let go to move his hand away, and – meanwhile – Wade looked down at the floor so that his expression was completely hidden from sight. It was then that May took to lifting her cup again to perhaps distract herself, but there was something so sad about seeing Wade reduced to a shell of his usual self. Peter wondered how often the other superheroes saw this side of him, as he thought back to how Logan and Steve refused to talk about it, as if they would be breaking some sacred trust, and everyone else assumed this side never existed at all.

“What are you afraid of, Wade?” May asked.

“I got some bad memories in my head,” said Wade. “It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not, but I know one thing for certain: people die when I’m around. I don’t want to bring a kid into this world only to see it die. I can’t think of any worse kind of guilt. I nearly lost Ellie, which nearly broke me, and I never even knew her . . . now she’s my life, so what if I love this kid just as much? What if I lose it, too? I don’t want that to be real.”

“ _That’s_ why you denied it so much?” Peter asked. “You were scared of losing the child? You – you could have just _told_ me that! I would have understood and given you time to think! I thought you just didn’t _care_ , Wade! I had to decide to keep it all on my own! I was so scared of making the wrong choice! You won’t -! You won’t mess up.”

“You can promise me that? I _saw_ Ellie’s mom dead in a ditch. I _saw_ that! I –”

“You told me Gwen wasn’t my fault. That isn’t yours, either.”

“So you want me as a father to this kid?”

Peter blushed as he felt both sets of eyes upon him. It was a good question, but one that he was by _no means_ ready to answer. On the one hand, he never wanted this child to begin with, let alone Wade as the other parent, and – when he thought about a list of potential co-parents – Wade probably wouldn’t have been top of that list. On the other hand, he trusted Wade to an extent and truly enjoyed his friend’s company, and Wade had every right in the world to be a father to his child, even if he didn’t think so. Still, Peter had so many questions and so many concerns! They would need to parent this child _together_ and -!

“Wade, I don’t think even _I’m_ good enough to father this child.”

“You kidding me? You’re Spider-Man! You’re –”

“Just as messed up as you.”

Wade gave a small smile at that confession. The ex-mercenary turned his head just enough that Peter could make out a brown eye and the side of a smile, and he realised just how much a comfort it may have been to Wade to not feel alone. It was something of a comfort to Peter, too, because he knew that Wade understood – better than anyone – how maddening sadness and loneliness could become, and he only hoped that he wouldn’t hurt Wade any further, because the old man was so easily hurt and Peter would admit to being insensitive at times.

“Do you two need to talk alone?” May asked.

“Oh, er, no,” said Peter. “I can crash at Wade’s or him at mine, so we can discuss it properly later, but – for now – I just need to know you’ll be okay with this. I – I didn’t want you to hate me or kick me out, because since MJ and I broke up . . . this is the only home I’ve had and my child is going to need you. I can’t do this alone! I know I have Wade, but we’re not a couple and what if one of us wants out, plus one of us will need primary custody and –”

“You say Wade already has a child?” May asked. Peter nodded in reply. “I think that you two need to spend a day with her, preferably look after her for a week or more, to see what parenting actually involves. Just remember that looking after a grown child is a lot easier than looking after a baby, complete with sleepless nights.”

“So you – you don’t hate me?”

May gave him a look that was equal parts horrified as it was placating, before she slammed down her cup and marched over to him. Peter almost winced when she came at him, but – much to his surprise – she merely embraced him in a warm and tight hug. It was enough that he felt the tears already rising to his eyes, even as she pulled away with a bright and warm smile, and he laughed childishly as she wiped at his eyes and then lifted his head to get a clearer look at him. He honestly hadn’t expected such support.

“Don’t make me angry, Peter,” she warned.

“I’m sorry, it’s just this -! It’s not natural and it’s –!”

“I will admit that I need time to _process_ this, because it’s a lot to take on board, but I support you unconditionally. I just worry whether you can co-parent, especially when you’re just friends. This is also my first time meeting Wade! I would like to get to know him better, too. Peter, this is the father of your child! You can’t just expect me to offer you advice or tell you my opinion, not when I have no idea on the details!”

“You’re taking this better than I thought!” Wade said with a laugh. “Al beat me with her cane and then kicked me out of my own house! Luckily I was crashing with Peter, which reminds me -! I got to get my stuff back at some point, but that apartment is so awesome and -!”

“You can tell me more over dinner,” said May. “You’re both staying.”

“Aunt, May, I –” Peter began.

He winced as May hit the back of his head. Luckily, she only used her palm, but it was enough to make him pout and glance nervously to Wade, who unfortunately began laughing loudly at how ‘Spidey got squashed’. Peter glared at Wade, but May only took a firm hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. It was highly embarrassing to be chastised by his aunt in front of his friend, but he couldn’t exactly argue back as – even at his age – it felt a little disrespectful. He settled for a blush as he tried to ignore Wade mocking him.

“No,” said May. “We need to talk properly.”

“Okay, but there isn’t really much to say. We’ve not made any decisions, yet.”

“Well, you can tell me more about these changes and how you’ll deliver the child,” said May. “Then we can work out where you plan on living, because we’ll need to start buying things for the baby and create a nursery. In the meantime, you and Wade _need_ to spend some time as a family with his daughter. Tell her about the baby, see whether you can parent together, _then_ make a decision about how involved you both want to be with the child.”

“I – I guess we can do that. I really don’t know how involved –”

“Very!” Wade called out. “I’m not doing wrong again!”

“I don’t know how involved _I_ can be.”

Peter pulled away from his aunt. He took a few steps into the centre of the room, where he then wrapped his arms around himself and held onto his upper arms, as he looked down at the floor and paced in a clumsy manner. It was difficult to look them in the eye and _admit_ that he was unsure how active he could be in his child’s life, because it felt as if he were admitting to something monstrous, especially when he saw the pressure that women faced when having children to be ‘maternal’ and ‘nurturing’.

They looked to him kindly, even as he let out a huff of breath and lifted his hands to lock around the back of his neck, turning to look at them as he bit his lip nervously, but he wondered whether he deserved their support. If he were carrying this child, shouldn’t he have unconditional love and anticipation of them? He felt as if he should _want_ to give up a part of his life for the child, that he should _want_ to be their primary caregiver, and yet a part of him resented them for forcing him to give up his job at the _Bugle_. May came up to him and placed a consoling hand upon his cheek. He smiled weakly back at her.

“Well, you’ll soon work it out,” said May.

She gently lowered her hand to squeeze his arm, as she then guided him into the living room, where Wade followed quickly behind. The two men sat down beside one another on the sofa, whilst May took a seat on the armchair nearby, and – as they took a moment to absorb the situation – Peter looked sadly to a photo of his uncle on the wall, as he wished that he could have shared this with him, too. May smiled broadly and spoke to him warmly.

“Now,” she said. “Tell me everything from the start.”

“Okay, I guess we can do that . . .”

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

# Chapter Eight

“Is it always like this?”

Peter wasn’t sure he was heard. In fact, he barely recognised the sound of his voice. He spoke so quietly that only Al seemed responsive to him, whilst Preston turned to him with a quizzical look from the kitchen barstool, and he felt himself blush at the sudden attention. It was difficult to be confident in civilian clothes and surrounded by strangers, but he forced himself to remember that these were Wade’s _family_ , and – as such – he would be seeing them a lot more in future. He needed to make an effort.

It had taken longer than expected to arrange a date, as both men forgot about Ellie’s schooling and extra-curricular activities, but finally – a week later – they had a whole Saturday free to spend together, just as May suggested. Peter felt that it was going well, but he realised that so far he had done nothing but _watch_ Wade interact with his daughter. It was true that he knew how much the older man loved and respected children, even when everything else in life held no meaning or joy for him, but somehow he expected him to be inappropriate or irresponsible, and yet he was _good_ with her.

“This is him on his best behaviour,” muttered Al.

Al placed her head upon her hands, as she leaned on the kitchen island. The open plan allowed for the three of them to watch Wade and Ellie, whilst at the same time giving them enough distance to talk in relative privacy, and he rather enjoyed talking to the women in Wade’s life. It presented him with a whole other side to the older man, so that he began to see him in a whole new light, and at times it sent waves of absolute guilt rolling through his body, because Wade’s previous actions now took on a new light. Peter regretted ever forcibly removing Wade’s mask for one thing, whilst he felt bad that he once assumed the worst of him enough to almost refuse to help him. Wade was more complex than he imagined.

Still, the stories from Preston of Wade _destroying_ a ship and _slaughtering_ everyone onboard, as well as Al’s tales of ‘the box’ and captivity . . . well . . . they revealed a very dark past and a mentally unstable man. Sure, Wade was sympathetic, but he was also dangerous and unreliable, and that wasn’t a great combination for a father in charge of a newborn. The fact the voices were now gone was a great sign, as was his dedication to doing good, but Peter couldn’t leave a child’s full custody to Wade, and he couldn’t parent alone either . . .

“What’s his worst behaviour?” Peter asked.

“You ever get someone to pull your finger?” Al asked in reply. “Yeah, well, I bet your finger didn’t _detach_ itself with a slight dribble of blood. I bet the quarter behind your ear wasn’t actually _behind_ your ear, either. That can scar a sight-seeing woman for life.”

“That was _not_ a pleasant sight!” Preston said coldly, evidently annoyed by Al’s final sarcastic jab aimed at her direction. “It’s easy to criticise him, anyhow, but there is so much to be said about Wade that’s actually . . . endearing. I’ve never seen a more loving father. I admit that he seems unsure of himself sometimes, so that he says things that sound like they belong off an eighties’ sitcom, as if he’s saying stereotypical parental phrases because he _genuinely_ thinks that’s what parents say . . . it’s as if he’s never had a parent himself.”

“Rumour has it that he killed his parents. Still, you ask that boy the truth and you get ten different stories. He’s not lying – oh no, not in _his_ mind – but it damned well ain’t the truth, that’s for certain! I don’t think even _he_ knows what happened to him as a kid, which I don’t envy him for, but he’s sure as hell never had a real parent to guide him.”

“Well, he’s a very quick learner, at least,” Preston said kindly.

“Isn’t parenting supposed to be natural?” Peter asked.

The two women shared a look, which – considering one was blind – was a terrific feat in itself, so that Peter found himself raising an eyebrow in response. It could have been rehearsed, but they looked to each other in such a natural way. Clearly, it was instinct alone that made them share that look, as well as a shared feeling, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether he was _missing_ something. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of being excluded from some sort of joke, but he didn’t feel in the mood to make any kind of quip.

There was the sound of laughter from within the living-room, where he could see Wade listening intently to Ellie as she told some sort of story, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the two of them. It was adorable how she made such huge movements with her arms to convey her point, whilst the expression of sheer love that Wade wore was something so beautiful and so rarely seen. The ex-mercenary had forgone his mask, which only highlighted how his eyes focussed entirely upon her and no one else, and he seemed so at _peace_ , as if this was where he was meant to be and nowhere else. It felt _right_.

It was hard to imagine having that kind of love for a child, especially when they were such an inconvenience and so unexpected, and yet Wade seemed _happy_ to have his world turned upside-down and inside-out. What was it that Wade had that Peter lacked? He wanted to have that love for their unborn child, too, but he just couldn’t envision it. If it could come so natural to Wade, as if it were some sort of parental instinct, why couldn’t it come natural to Peter, too? He rubbed his stomach to soothe himself, but it reminded him of what he missed.

“Parenting is natural as childbirth,” said Al. “Painful as it, too.”

“I think what Al is saying is that every parent has doubts,” answered Preston. “We are all afraid of making mistakes, especially when it’s a _life_ that’s at stake, and that amount of responsibility can cripple even the strongest of people, but . . . when you hold that life in your hands, when you look into those beautiful eyes . . . you realise that this is your life’s purpose. It’s everything you were meant to be and so much more. You’ll worry less then.”

“What if – what if I _don’t_ feel that way?” Peter asked. “What if I look at them and feel _nothing_? There are some people that _don’t_ want children or _aren’t_ paternal or maternal, and no amount of _holding_ a baby can change that! What if I’m just a bad father?”

“You _won’t_ be a bad father, because you’re a _good_ man, Peter.”

“Wade’s a bad man, but a good father,” muttered Al.

Peter laughed loudly. It was debatable whether he was a ‘good’ man, but he sure wasn’t ready to be a father! He knew that it was something he always wanted and wished to have, but he always envisioned someone _else_ being pregnant, maybe even being _married_ at the time, too, so that the brunt of responsibility was shared equally. He also wouldn’t be the dealing with the issue of instincts and whether he could _carry_ the child, because he wouldn’t be acting as a ‘mother’, just as he wouldn’t worry what other people _thought_ of it all.

This -? This was something he dealt with alone. He needed to work out where he would live, how involved Wade would be, how involved _he_ could be . . . he worked out whether he could keep it, but what from there? There were some people that just _weren’t meant_ to be parents, which Peter understood and appreciated, but now he made the commitment to having this baby . . . he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t _abandon_ a child like that. Peter wondered whether a bad parent was worse than an absent parent, but then weren’t both as bad as the other? He threw his head down into his hands and drew in a broken breath.

“See, Al gets it!”

“Al is also a rather bitter woman that’s seen the worst of people,” said Preston. “I’d also remind her that she was saying something rather different the other day. Still, parenting isn’t just something you _know_ , Peter; it’s something you _do_. Every child is different, in any case, and no one parenting style is the _right_ one. You’ll learn as you go along and by simply _being_ there for your child, but it’s also okay to ask for advice. You’ll learn, I promise.”

“What if I _don’t_ learn? I don’t want to just dump this child on someone else. I don’t want to be the father that walks away . . . I – I know what that feels like. I don’t want my son or daughter wondering what they did wrong, what they could have done differently . . . I – I don’t want them wasting half their life wondering when or if I’ll be back!”

“So you’ll learn from your parents’ mistakes, then you’ll make some of your own.” Preston winked and gave a smile. “We all mess up from time to time, but it’s part of being a parent. Do you know a single child that doesn’t complain about their parents at least once?”

“I guess not, but . . . Aunt May was so perfect growing up . . .”

“I guarantee she was just as afraid as you are.”

Preston reached out to place a hand on his back. It was there only for a moment, but it was enough to comfort him. The older woman reminded him a little of his aunt in some respects, except with more of an edge and a little more of an attitude, and he appreciated her honesty and kindness. He expected her to be more of a hard-ass with an anger problem, judging from Wade’s descriptions and overall complaining, but she seemed reasonable and very tolerant of his situation. He lowered his hands and gave a sigh, before he looked at her.

“Thank you,” he said gently.

It was then that she smiled back, so that a few lines appeared on her dark skin and her cheeks appeared to glow, and Peter marvelled at how far the LMD technology had come since he last spent time with one. Al gave a snort in the corner, which Peter already come to expect, as it was clear how she was far from the sentimental sort, and yet there was a form of attachment to Wade that was hard to miss. The old woman was incredibly protective of Wade, to the extent that Peter felt interrogated when he first met her.

He looked across to Wade again, only to see that the older man now stood, albeit he leaned over to try and get as close to Ellie’s level as possible. The young girl wore a bright smile; he noticed how she seemed to come alive around Wade, as if breaking out of her shell, and it amazed him how Wade had that effect on people. They both looked across to him. It was enough to make him rear back a little, until Wade pulled on his mask and Ellie came running over to him. She climbed up onto a barstool by his side, opposite Al, and Preston took the opportunity to busy about the kitchen to make some snacks. It felt awkward.

It wasn’t that he minded Ellie’s company, but what did he _say_ to a child? He knew that she lost her stepfather, as well as having lost her mother, and she seemed to be developing well under Preston’s care and the watch of a good therapist. Wade jumped up onto a kitchen counter, where he swung his legs in a manner that forced Al to strike him with her cane to get him to stop, but – luckily – Ellie only laughed at the sight, before she tugged at the sleeves of Peter’s shirt. He looked at her with an embarrassed smile.

“Are you having a baby?” Ellie asked.

That wasn’t what he expected. He found himself blushing further, whilst Al stifled a laugh and Wade continued to beam like an idiot. It was a difficult question to answer to an adult, let alone a child, and he couldn’t help but wonder how aware she was about the whole thing. How old were kids when they had ‘the talk’? Did he need to sugarcoat the whole experience? Even if she knew about these kinds of things, Peter would need to explain that male pregnancy wasn’t normal, surely? How – how did someone _answer_ that?

“I – er . . . kind of?”

“How can you ‘kind of’ have a baby?” Ellie continued.

“Y-yeah, I’m – ah – pregnant. Er, what did your dad tell you?”

“That’s easy! He said you’re a really famous photographer, but one day you took a photo of Spider-Man when some guy cast a spell! Apparently it means that you and my dad are having a baby, even though men usually can’t have babies, but that’s why it’s special.” Ellie paused to look hard at his stomach. “How will it come out?”

Wade burst out into laughter, whilst Preston placed a plate of sandwiches in front of Ellie with a long sigh, and Peter found himself choking suddenly, which was quite an accomplishment without a drink or any food. He snatched a glass out of Preston’s hand, as she walked past him; it was filled with milk, which was fine by him, but it enabled him to get his bearings and stop choking in the air itself. Preston merely sighed and went to get another glass. He felt awful stealing a child’s drink, but that was _not_ a question he could answer!

“They’ll – they’ll do an operation,” Peter explained.

“Will that hurt? They’ll have to make a _massive_ cut, right?”

“I-I’ll be asleep.” Peter ran a hand over his face. “Er, if you have any questions, I’m not too sure I’m the best person to ask. Do – do you want me to go? You can have a discussion with Preston then and maybe she can explain it all properly. I could come back –”

“You’ll have to wake up, right? Will it scar? Cuts usually scar.”

“Oh God, I guess . . . I guess it probably will scar.”

“Didn’t you think of that already?”

He resisted the urge to drop his head onto the table, because he knew that Ellie was highly astute and would probably sense his fear and discomfort. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with a scar or two, not least because it would be an insult to Wade to make any such insinuation, but the idea that his body would forever bear the mark of the c-section, so that any future partner would see it . . . he hated that thought. There was nothing that scared him more, because the idea that someone might be _repulsed_ by it . . . it meant his chance at any sexual partners may be reduced, or – at least – he’d be incredibly self-conscious naked.

“I guess I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” said Wade. “Peter will still be as handsome as ever! Won’t you, Petey? The scar will heal super quick, too, because Petey is special and can heal, like me only not as super special awesome! It’ll all be fine, I swear!”

“He – he’s right,” replied Peter. “You’re going to be a big sister, too. Are – are you excited? I mean, it’s okay not to be, but then it’s okay to be, too, if – if that makes sense . . . I – I guess – I guess I’m just saying that I’m sure the baby is looking forward to meeting you! Wade and I were talking about it, and we thought it’d be nice for the baby to get you a gift. Is there anything that you want? We don’t want you to feel left out.”

“That’s fine. I want a soccer ball, but I can get that at any time. I know that it’s not the baby actually getting the gift, anyway; I _am_ eight! My friend’s mom bought him a bike, because she didn’t want him to be jealous, but she said it was from the baby, so that way he would think the baby was his friend or something. Can I have a brother?”

“You – you take a little after your father, huh?”

It was hard to keep up with her. He wondered whether all children could talk so quickly or change their train of thoughts so suddenly, and – as he tried to process the story she told – suddenly he was given a question that he wasn’t sure he could answer. In a few weeks they would know the gender, but until then it was something of a mystery. He wondered whether Wade had any preferences, whilst already Preston and Pepper were telling him about how one gender was ‘easier’ than another, which both conflicting in their opinions . . .

The only thing for certain was that – at seventeen weeks – he was at the ‘safety point’, which was perhaps the main thing, because it meant that they _could_ start telling people, but the gender of the child was another thing that he didn’t give much thought about. He tried to envision himself with a small boy, just as he tried to envision a young girl, and yet neither quite felt _real_ and neither he could _picture_. They were impossible concepts. It made no difference to him whether the child was a boy or a girl, but he knew that he couldn’t promise one to Ellie only for her hopes to be dashed when it turned out to be wrong. Still, her dark eyes looked up at him filled with hope and excitement.

“It may be a girl,” he said uncertainly.

“If it is,” said Ellie, “I’d rather take the soccer ball.”

“Well, it won’t be long before they’re born. You can meet them soon, I promise. We – we were thinking that the baby may have two homes . . . it’d live some of the time with me at my aunt’s, but some of the time with your daddy. I – I’d probably be with the baby, so I’d be staying there, too, so – if you wanted – you could stay over whenever the baby stays over, so we can all be together as a family. You’ll be their big sister, so they’ll probably look up to you a lot . . . you’ll get to teach them a lot and be their hero.”

“My dad . . . my other dad, the one who raised me . . . looked after me alone,” answered Ellie. “Don’t people with two parents have just one home? How come your baby will have two homes? Don’t you want to live with my dad? Aren’t you in love?”

“I – we’re not – I don’t -! W-Wade, help me out!”

Wade shrugged and looked to Preston. It was frustrating, because they _talked_ about Wade taking responsibility and this whole day was supposed to be about _proving_ they could co-parent together, and yet Wade looked to someone else for an answer. The expression he wore was difficult to read, but he seemed equal parts petulant and confused, so that the motive for deflecting the responsibility of an answer could well have been anything . . . rebelliousness, indifference, even uncertainty . . . Peter sighed.

Luckily, Preston just gave him a stern look and then turned away, which forced Wade to answer the question himself, but – before he did – he looked imploringly to Peter, as if he might see something that would give him some new information to use. It made Peter feel guilty, because he _knew_ how deep the older man’s crush ran, and yet there was no way that he could _force_ himself to feel attraction to Wade, and he wasn’t yet ready to face the thought he may be anything other than heterosexual. He dated Gwen still in high school, then MJ for so many years, and it wasn’t as if he had time to experiment between the two, so lost in his grief.

They shared an uncomfortable look, before Peter looked away. He was pretty sure that Al had fallen asleep at some point, whilst Ellie chewed upon her sandwiches in a rather noisy way, and he swore he could almost _feel_ Wade’s eyes boring holes into him. It would be easier if they were a couple, that much was certain, but they couldn’t become a couple just because it was _expected_ by a few or because it would be _easier_ for the child. It would be wrong.

“We’re not a couple, Ellie,” said Wade.

“Why not? You’re having a baby, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but . . . sometimes you don’t have to be a couple to have a child! It’s like this spell went off too soon, which shot into Peter, which is sometimes all that’s needed! It’s why you always have to protect yourself! Oh, and just _holding_ a wand can make a spell go off, so you _never_ want to dabble in magic! It’s way bad! Just wait, okay?”

“ _Oh dear God,_ ” Peter moaned. “Wade, please! I can’t -!”

“Hey, trying for another ‘spell’, baby boy?”

“I swear I’ll get you for this!”

He grabbed one of Ellie’s sandwiches and threw it at Wade. The triangle slices of bread fell in midair, but a slice of ham managed to hit Wade square on the chin, and – as Preston sent him a death glare – he blushed a little at his childishness and looked down in shame. Still, even as Ellie popped off her chair to pick up the waste, he hated that Wade could resort to such euphemisms in front of a child. He felt awkward and embarrassed. It was enough that he had to hold onto his stomach to remind himself to stay calm.

“So you aren’t in love?” Ellie asked.

“Just because we aren’t _in_ love,” said Peter, “it doesn’t mean we don’t love one another. I – I know your father wouldn’t mind beginning a relationship, but I’m . . . we both like _very_ different types of people. I’m only able to be in love with women, so I can’t be in love with him. We’re still best friends though, and sometimes things change . . .”

“What if he wore a dress? It’d be kind of like being a woman, right?”

“Not all women wear dresses,” said Preston from afar.

“Men can wear dresses, too,” added Wade.

Peter heard Al chuckle, but – when he looked to her – he could see that she was leaning back on her stool, with her back rested against the counter, and there wasn’t any sign or expression that indicated she was awake. He was sure that she was pretending to be exhausted. It was difficult to look at any of them in that moment, so he glanced instead to the television in the other room that flickered with images of the news, and prayed for the day when he would be able to get back to work. This just wasn’t what he was cut out to do.

“Can we _not_ confuse her further?”

“If you get married, can I be bridesmaid?” Ellie asked.

“If we get married? Sure, why not?”

It was unclear whether she got the sarcasm. The smile on her lips suggested that she was still a bit too young to understand the nuances of speech, and so he let her live with the small hope of a wedding in the distant future. It felt like the entire day was so far a waste of time, because Ellie was simply too young to understand adult relationships and what this would mean, whilst the two men still had come no closer to knowing whether either one was ready for the baby. He wondered whether they could look after her for longer, to be sure. Still, he needed a break. He needed room to _think_ , even at the expense of conversation.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” muttered Peter.

“Do you need any help, baby boy? I don’t mind –”

“No! Just -! No.” Peter drew in a deep breath. “Just explain to Ellie that we _aren’t_ dating, okay? This – this is confusing enough for all the adults involved, but the last thing I want to do is to get her hopes up, only to dash them. I’ll be down in just a moment.”

“Fine, but if you want a wand to grab and a spell to cast -!”

“You’ve made your point! Stop it, Wade!”

Peter stood up a little too quickly, so that he was forced to grab the table for balance. It surprised him to feel so light-headed and weak, enough that the room began to spin just a little, and yet he finally managed to stand properly. He could feel Ellie and Preston look to him with worry, but he smiled warmly to protect their feelings, before he slowly slipped out of the room, past Wade on the way. The ex-mercenary made to pinch his buttock, but he caught the hand in time and bent his hand enough to cause him to yelp.

There was the unmistakable laughter of Al behind him, whilst Wade whined like a child and tried to nurse his hand, but – frankly – he wasn’t in the mood for such antics, he felt strange and dizzy and something was . . . wrong. He felt thirsty as he walked through the house and headed to the stairs, which were surprisingly difficult to climb, and he felt breathless when he reached the top. It made him wonder whether he was experiencing a panic attack, but the conversation downstairs had been less difficult than he envisioned, with only a child’s innocent questions and a little ribbing from the adults. He wasn’t sure what was wrong.

It took him a moment to find the bathroom, but – when he did – he drank from the tap like a man dying of dehydration, unable to simply get enough. He looked in the mirror to see that he was a little pale, but otherwise fine, before he thought back to MJ and how she also suffered from dizzy spells during her unfortunately short pregnancy. A part of him wanted to confide in her, especially now that she was settled with Sam and over their relationship, but it felt inappropriate when they _lost_ the one thing they wanted and the one thing holding them together, as if he would be bringing up the hurt and the pain needlessly. Peter sighed and lowered his shorts to finish his business within the bathroom.

There was no pain, only the usual feeling of release, but it was when he reached down – to redress himself – that he saw an unmistakable stain of blood on the material. It was small, perhaps only a few specks, and yet it was _there_. He didn’t want to panic, as he knew that some women continued to bleed through their pregnancies, but Peter _wasn’t_ a woman and he hadn’t experienced _any_ bleeding before this moment. He suddenly felt nauseous again.

“ _Shoot,”_ he whispered.

It took several minutes to compose himself. He was forced to vomit a few times, before he raided Preston’s cabinet for a liner to prevent any more stains, and he felt thankful that she had yet to rid herself of products that the LMD she inhabited didn’t need. Another five minutes later and he found himself writing and deleting a text to Bruce over and over, in a vicious cycle, as he wondered whether this was something worth worrying the older man over. It couldn’t be normal, but what if it were normal? 

He realised that he had been in there for far too long, but he couldn’t quite calm down enough to find the courage to face the others. It was only a few specks, nothing _at all_ like MJ experienced during her traumatic event, and it could have been due to absolutely anything, such as a paper cut or even piles. Still he looked at his reflection and tried to focus on the humour of it all, because only a few days ago he found himself wondering whether to rid himself of the child, but now he couldn’t envision life _without_ it. He put a hand to his stomach. There wasn’t any pain, just as there weren’t any other symptoms . . .

“It’s fine. It’s only a little. It’s fine.”

_‘Yo, Petey! Do you want food? Preston’s cooking!’_

“Er, yeah! I’ll be right out!”

He looked in the mirror one last time. It was hard to draw in enough breath to calm himself, but he managed and wore a bright smile, so that he wouldn’t worry anyone else that saw him, because – God forbid – he worry everyone over nothing. He felt his heart race in his chest, as well as a sweat all over his body, and he forced himself to _remember_ that it would all be okay, because it couldn’t be anything else. It _had_ to be okay. It had to be.

“It’s fine,” Peter whispered. “It’s fine.”

_‘Petey! You okay in there at all?’_

“I’m fine!” Peter lied.


	9. Chapter Nine

# Chapter Nine

“Wade! If you took it, I swear -!”

Peter slammed his hands down. The chest of drawers rattled and a glass fell from the edge, so that it took Peter’s quick reflexes to stop it from smashing on the ground, and yet – as he quickly bent to get the glass – he felt a sharp prod of pain. He stood up and put the glass back, before he glared down at his growing stomach and realised that he struck the bump upon his knees. It was bad enough to feel tired just walking, but now bending was becoming a chore . . . it wouldn’t be long before he would need help to simply cut his toenails.

The bedroom was virtually empty now, save for a few spares sets of clothes in the wardrobe and drawers, and he made sure to leave a few toiletries, too, as well as books and films to while away the time should he be caught stuck in the tower. He made sure that everything else was boxed and ready to send to his aunt’s, where he would move in properly and help in setting up the nursery. It was strange seeing his bedroom so barren and empty, because – in a weird way – this was his _home_ for so long, and he would miss training with Natasha and Sam Wilson, just as he would miss eating with Steve and Tony. It was like saying goodbye.

Still, there was only one thing missing: his costume.

It wasn’t that he _needed_ it, but it was something of a safety net. Peter would admit that he kept it ‘just in case’ to begin with, just so he still kept the _choice_ to act as Spider-Man, even if he never acted on it. It felt no different to the way that Tony would keep a bottle of whiskey in his drawer during his episodes of sobriety, to remind himself that he still held a _choice_ and to give himself a sense of _control_ , only – unlike Tony – Peter knew he wouldn’t give into it.

“Wade, I’m not mad! Just give it back!”

Peter marched over to his bedroom door, where he peered out into the shared lounge. There wasn’t any sign of Wade at all, even though he had chosen to spend the past few nights in the apartment, supposedly ‘helping’ to pack. The television was left on to reveal a flickering image of J. Jonah on the screen, whilst in the kitchen an appliance buzzed in a rather unhealthy manner, and – through the large windows – he could see the lights of the city aglow with life and beautiful in their appearance. He would miss the view for sure.

He gave a sigh and walked through the apartment to Wade’s suite, where the door was left open and the gym was in chaos, and he had to _very_ carefully tread a path to the bedroom, afraid of falling in his condition. There was something of a horrific smell coming from the bathroom, which forced Peter to stand still for a few seconds. The way his throat clenched and his stomach tensed made it clear the nausea was on its way, especially when he needed to breathe slowly and carefully to fight back the acidic liquid in the back of his throat, and – eventually – he was able to walk past into the bedroom, as he ignored the smell.

The bedroom was not in much better condition, but Wade – fortunately – had bleached and cleaned the entire room to remove all traces of his DNA. There was a horrible smell of disinfectant in the air, but combined with rapidly moulding Chinese food and traces of the mysterious bathroom smell, and it just left Peter sweating and unable to move, as he desperately tried not to throw up. He closed his eyes tightly and lowered his head, before he commanded J.A.R.V.I.S. to run the air purifier and opened the windows.

“Tony is going to kill me,” Peter muttered.

_‘I believe murder is contrary to many governing laws, Mr Parker.’_

“Tell that to my grave. J.A.R.V.I.S., where’s Wade?”

There was a frustratingly long pause, which Peter hoped didn’t mean that the A.I. was checking in with its creator, but Peter filled the time by marching over to the walk-in closet and flicking through a selection of dresses and lingerie. Wade appeared to have removed most of his day-to-day clothes, leaving only a few spare costumes and tattered outfits, much in the manner that Peter also chose. It was enough to make Peter wonder whether he would need to leave items at Wade’s, too, if he planned on spending time there with their child.

_‘I have been told to inform you that Mr Wilson left fifteen minutes ago.’_

“Around half-past? I thought he -?” Peter slammed the closet door closed. “Did he borrow my costume at all? I need to pack it, but it’s not where I left it. If he’s used it to have conversations with ‘Spidey’ in the mirror, I swear I’ll-!”

_‘Mr Stark has instructed me to show you the news.’_

“What? Why? What has the -? Oh God.”

Peter turned to see the wall-screen. It flickered on to reveal the same news station as before, but this time it displayed a collage of photos . . . photographs of _Spider-Man_. Peter stepped closer, even as he stubbed his toe on a stray box filled with belongings, and – as he clutched his foot as best as he could – he stared hard at the screen. The subtitles made it clear these were _recent_ sightings, with the most recent one being five-minutes ago on a nearby roof, but the pictures were not quite right. They seemed . . . wrong.

He squinted a little, as his contacts were beginning to irritate him in recent weeks, but he could see that the costume _really_ didn’t fit, enough that there was no possible way that the subtitles were incorrect. It was a recent photo, but it wasn’t a photo of _him_. There was a large slither of midriff on show, which looked burned to an untrained eye, as well as a good centimetre gap between the gloves and the sleeves, and the web pattern was distorted oddly over the chest. The man in question was also taller than Peter by a good few inches, so that it seemed odd to see him looking down at things that were eye-level to the younger man.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!”

_‘Mr Stark informs me that -’_

“Mute, J.A.R.V.I.S.!”

He drew in a deep breath. It was difficult to calm himself, but it was essential given that any form of stress would be detrimental to the child. The pregnancy already altered so much of his life, forcing him to give up foods that he never before even considered ‘harmful’, and the nausea was enough to _seriously_ make him reconsider advocating that ‘morning sickness’ be called something else, when it happened all day and every day. These were sacrifices he was prepared to make, but it was difficult . . . especially at times like these.

There was no way that he could let Wade go around as _Spider-Man_ , not least because there was _no_ way of telling what his motives were, and this was his _reputation_ at stake! He knew that Wade had a lot of enemies, but most of those that still held vendettas would only attack for a hit, and – as far as Peter knew – there wasn’t any hits out on Wade. If anything, Wade dressed as _Spider-Man_ was in substantially more danger than he usually would be, because there were those that would _kill_ Spider-Man on sight. It wasn’t as if Peter didn’t have spare costumes to hand, but if the public started to think there were _multiple_ vigilantes acting as a team . . . well . . . it would be a huge issue. He needed to do _something_ , though!

Peter marched to the closet and looked at the clothes inside. If Wade was masquerading as Spider-Man, it meant that Deadpool was officially available to borrow. Still, he couldn’t put their child at risk! Even if the risk was small, it was still there. He clenched his hands tightly and tried to draw in several deep breaths, although he only succeeded in smelling the awful scents of the room and making the nausea rise up, and suddenly he wondered whether he would be capable of swinging through the city. He wouldn’t fit into the Iron Spider suit, that was for sure, but swinging would put him at great exposure . . .

“I can’t believe he’s making me _do_ this,” snapped Peter.

It took a few moments to strip down, but eventually he found himself nude. It felt rather exposing and vulnerable to be naked in Wade’s room, especially given his condition, but he managed to fight back a blush and control his insecurity. He made to kick his clothes out of the way, only to see an all too familiar sight . . . blood. It was only a tiny amount, but enough on his undergarments to cause his stomach to flip and his breathing to stop. It couldn’t be more than the second or third time it happened, but it was too much for his liking.

Peter felt cold all over, so that it was as if he were being submerged in ice, along with that same breathless feeling and the stinging sensation over his skin. He reached out quickly for the first Deadpool costume he could find, before he pulled it on to cover him from the worst of the cold, and – at once – he realised the disguise would be something of an issue. The boots flopped a little at the back, at least a size too big, whilst excess material gathered on the sleeves and legs, and yet – depressingly – the stomach felt a little tight, albeit not too much, and still the waist felt far too tight and had to be lowered to ride under his belly.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., is Tony available? Un-mute.”

_‘Mr Stark is currently racing Dum-E bots in his laboratory.’_

“Great. Tell him that I’ve left Stark Tower,” said Peter. “I can’t risk getting into trouble like this, but I can’t leave Wade to his devices either! Give him the current location of Wade – exact co-ordinates – and tell him I’m on my way there; I’ll be taking the usual route.”

_‘As you wish, Mr Parker. May I suggest wearing a mask?’_

“Wearing a -? Oh, yeah, thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.!”

_‘My pleasure, Mr Parker.’_

Peter grabbed the Deadpool mask. It felt heavy and almost crunchy in his hands, so that the material was stiff and crackled with the movement of his fingers, but he ignored it to pull the mask over his head. The mask was unbearable to wear; there was the most horrific scent that reminded him of a zoo, something like a mix between fresh blood and faeces, and the material stuck to his skin in a terrifying manner, as if he were touching some sort of congealed matter. Peter pulled up the mask and at once vomited onto the floor.

The liquid sprayed onto the walls, as well as formed a small puddle on the ground, and he couldn’t help other than to groan as he caught his breath. It tasted like acid in his mouth, plus the sight of the vomit made him feel faint and nauseous all over again. He was sure he could see pieces of sliced ginger. Peter tried to control the sweat over his skin, as he drew in gasped breaths of air, before he held his breath and pulled the mask down to cover his face. This time he managed to fight back his morning sickness and keep the mask on, before he fished out a spare set of web-shooters – hidden in a secret compartment of the closet – and climbed to leave out of the window. The movements aggravated his condition.

He was glad that his reflexes were as quick as ever, although he nearly fell when the dizziness stopped him from shooting in time, but – with luck and skill – he caught himself and was able to right his position, before he carried on his way. It took only five minutes to reach the rooftop in question, although that was far longer than was bearable. Once he got back his costume, he swore that he wouldn’t don it again until the pregnancy was complete, because this – _this_ – was a form of torture. He felt something churn inside him, as if the baby were fidgeting due to the abrupt movements.

The roof was old, but well built and sturdy. It was much lower than the buildings that surrounded it, as well as enclosed on three sides by its neighbours, and – on the far side – Peter could just about make out the sight of Goblin. There was no surprise in the fact that he escaped custody, but it was a surprise to be faced with him when being close to five-months pregnant. Peter wrapped his hands around his stomach and stepped into the shadows.

_‘Incy-Wincy Spider climbed up the waterspout!’_

Peter used his ability to climb the wall beside him, so his body was hidden by a fire escape, and looked out across the roof to see the Goblin struggling to stand. It was difficult to watch the villain try to maintain balance, even more so to stay calm and try to stay his breathing enough not to give away his position, but the most difficult thing was to look up and see Wade standing on another roof, caught central between the three walls on the second wall.

It was eerie to see _himself_ standing like that, because he _knew_ that was _his_ costume and _his_ identity, and yet . . . Wade wore the suit and name well. The Goblin growled and looked up at Wade with his teeth bared in a snarl, as well as hands clenched into fists, but – due to the webbing that trapped his feet and forced him to fight to free himself – he could barely stand of his own accord, let alone launch himself at Wade. Wade looked down and laughed loudly, before he spun around and began to fidget with something about his waist, whilst the Goblin _nearly_ managed to break free. It was then that Peter noticed what Wade was doing, which made him groan and jump down onto the roof the Goblin stood. This _had_ to be a joke!

_‘Down came the rain and washed the Goblin out!’_

“Don’t you dare, W-! Er, Spider-Man!”

“Hey, there’s my sunshine!”

It was unfortunate that Peter revealed himself a second too late. ‘Spider-Man’ already held his member in hand and the urine already began its descent, which caused the Goblin to scream out in horror and frustration, whilst Peter was forced to fight back the nausea out of fear of being sick, as he knew to lift his mask would be to reveal unscarred skin. He almost felt sort for the Goblin, but – eventually – he fought his way out of the webbing and spotted Peter from afar, which caused him to take flight and flee the scene. It seemed that being ‘Deadpool’ held its benefits: no one wanted to take on an insane mercenary.

“T-that was . . .”

“Awesome? I know! He wouldn’t believe me when I called him a pisshead!”

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Peter shouted. “I can’t believe you _stole_ my costume to – to – to _what_? You’re going to ruin my reputation! Not to mention that you can’t beat a damned _wanted criminal_ with toilet humour and visual puns!”

“Puns and bullets and pointy things! Yes, I can!”

“Well, not with _my_ identity, you won’t!”

Wade groaned loudly. He jumped down with little finesse, where he landed in a rather vulgar pose and exposed several long cuts upon his body, which – whilst they would no doubt heal and disappear – also meant that his costume would need to be washed and sewed. There was very little said, but Wade found a long stream of curses when he realised that he was standing in the midst of the pee puddle . . . another fact that made Peter’s nausea rise. He was tempted to simply destroy the costume and start afresh.

The older man appeared to wear a smile behind the mask, which only angered Peter all the more, especially when he considered the fact that _anyone_ could have witnessed these antics and spread the news about! What did Wade get up to _before_ Peter showed up? What _else_ did people see? If Wade was willing to do something like this in private, how much worse would he show up for an audience? Okay, so he refrained from excessive violence and murder, but that wasn’t to say that Spider-Man could just go around committing vulgar acts just for the sake of vulgar acts! It was just so pointless and ridiculous, but all done under _his_ name! He dreaded to think what his team or the Avengers would make of this!

Wade continued to smile, even as he walked up to Peter with a big wave of his hand, but – between the morning sickness and stress regarding the bleeding and now _this_ – he could barely contain his anger, even as he thought to himself that he would probably be chastised for his ‘hormones’ or ‘mood swings’. Heck, the idea that he couldn’t even control his _emotions_ only added to the anger and sense of lost control. Wade barely took a step closer when Peter sent a diving punch his way. There was a sound like a crack, followed by the wet feeling of blood, and Wade staggered backwards a few steps.

“What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that _I’m_ Spider-Man!” Peter cried out. “You just _peed_ on some guy’s head! Do you really think I want to be _associated_ with that kind of behaviour? Why – _why_ did you even steal my costume anyway? This is the _worst_ betrayal of trust –”

“Dude, you kept saying you were worried about the effects of Spidey taking a break! You were all crying on my shoulder and sad and saying how you _wished_ some big, strong guy would come along and help you! Okay, well, maybe you weren’t _that_ sad, but still! I thought if _I_ were that big, strong guy then I could act as Spidey for you! That way no one would know he’s out of commission and the city would still have a deterrent!”

“You – that’s – I can’t -!” Peter paused to draw in a breath. “Okay, fine, but you should have _told_ me that! I would have understood! You acted as me before! I would have been okay with that! Well, I would have been okay _without_ you peeing on people, but that’s something we can talk about later. I just can’t _believe_ you did that!”

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done! I was in a rush to get the Rhino, then _he_ appeared -!”

“The Goblin? Of course he appeared! Why wouldn’t he?”

“ _Duh_ , I wasn’t _after_ him!”

Peter clenched his hands tight and began to pace. Wade appeared to pout behind the mask, where a large stain appeared around his nose, which turned the red into a colour far darker and more nauseating. It was difficult to calm himself, even as he raised his hands behind his head and clasped them there, and he could see the way that Wade dabbed his nose and screwed up his face to try and get the bone to realign, and – as guilty as he felt – he also felt overwhelmed by the entire situation. He couldn’t _do_ this.

It was bad enough to put his career as Spider-Man on hiatus, but now he was forced to relinquish control of his identity to another in the hopes of maintaining the illusion that he was still fighting crime in the city. Only now . . . now he wasn’t sure that he _could_ return to his life as Spider-Man. He also wasn’t sure whether he could hang up his suit for good. It wasn’t a surprise to him that the Goblin chased after ‘Spider-Man’ the first chance he got, because Peter felt that he would have acted in the exact same way in his situation, especially now that he was carrying a _child_. This was personal for the Goblin, but this was also personal for _Peter_ . . . any damage he sustained, his child would sustain too . . . he couldn’t help but think this was _exactly_ how the Goblin felt.

“I – I _killed_ Harry,” said Peter.

“Huh? That kid you used to hang out with?”

Peter let his hands run over his head and covered his mouth. He gave a broken nod, before he stood still and looked across to his red-and-blue friend, and tried to smile as best as he was able through the sticky and smelly mask. There was a horrible shake to his hands, just as he felt a strange and sharp pain coming from his lower abdomen, and he couldn’t help but feel the tears rise to his eyes, even as he blinked them rapidly away. It was too much to bear.

“He was the Goblin’s son,” said Peter. “I – I can’t even _imagine_ a life without our child, but that’s _knowing_ I never wanted them to begin with, which I _know_ sounds weird, but . . . it’s true. I know I never wanted them, never asked for them, never even thought it _possible_ to have them, but . . . here they are . . . I think – I think that’s why I’m so glad to have you as a friend, because I _can’t_ lose you. Do you know how terrifying to think I could _lose_ this child, after we’ve come so far . . . now I want them?

“I just keep thinking that he had so many _years_ with Harry. This baby is just an _idea_ ; we don’t even know the gender yet, let alone have a name or a face to picture when we think of them, but imagine having decades of memories! That loss -! It – it would _kill_ me to lose them like that. I was devastated when my uncle died, but to lose a child that I created and raised and loved unconditionally? I mean . . . I just . . . I don’t even know how I would get out of bed each day, let alone actually live life after that. I – I _did_ that to him! I got Harry killed. _Me!_ I caused a father to lose his son . . . to lose all sense of hope and happiness . . . is it any wonder he has such a vendetta against me? I don’t deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t say that, Spidey,” said Wade.

Peter scoffed with a shake of his head. He let out a nervous laugh, before he reached up to try and wipe his eyes, and – instead of hitting hard plastic – he struck mesh instead, which unfortunately stung considerably and added to the tears. It was then that he let out an uncharacteristic curse and looked down at his stomach. He didn’t _deserve_ to be happy when everyone he loved died, when he was _responsible_ for so many deaths, and how would this be any different? How could he protect a child when he couldn’t save those he loved?

It was enough to make him hyperventilate, so that the dizziness returned and the roof began to spin, and – as he tried to catch his breath – the roof swayed and he swayed with it, until Wade marched up to him and caught him in his arms. Peter let out a primal scream of frustration, as he tried to push and fight back, angry at being so _weak_ and so _vulnerable_ , but this child had _made_ him this way! He was forced to give up so much, but now -? Now he was forced to _love_ them, too, and now he was scared of _losing_ them! It would be apt justice to lose a child . . . Ben, Gwen, Harry, MJ’s unborn child . . . everyone he knew died and he could do nothing to stop it! He could lose this child, too!

Wade only held him tighter, even as he railed and fought, so much that he was certain he was bruising the older man and hurting him, and yet Wade held him . . . just _held_ him . . . so that soon Peter ran out of energy to fight. He let himself collapse against Wade, at last. The ex-mercenary was the only thing alone that kept him standing, but he let his arms fall to his side and apprehensively tried to raise them to wrap around Wade, even as he shook them a few times in uncertainty. It was a while before he eventually let them wrap around Wade, as he appreciated the tight and warm embrace. He felt safe being held by Wade.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Wade muttered.

“Don’t let go? Please, I’m so scared of losing the baby.”

“I won’t let go, I swear. I won’t ever let go.”

It was then that he heard the sound of music blaring, something like classic rock, and – as he turned his head to look at the source – he saw Iron Man landing just on the other side of the roof, with Captain American clinging to his back in support. Peter felt too tired to pull away from Wade, not to mention that they already saw the sentimental hug anyway, and it wasn’t as if they could see his face to know how pained he actually felt.

Tony removed his mask to reveal a rather stern and cold expression, which reminded Peter a lot of Pepper from a couple weeks previous, but it was hard to understand how he could be at all angry this time around. Peter borrowed Wade’s costume solely to get _his_ back, so it wasn’t as if he meant to fight crime or get into trouble, and no harm had come from the whole adventure unlike the last time he fought the Goblin. Still, it was difficult to see two of his role-models stood side-by-side glaring at him, as if he were still a troublesome child that deserved to be scolded by its parents.

“Got here as fast as I could,” said Tony. “You two look cosy.”

Peter pulled away quickly. Wade knew better than to say anything, but he did take to playing with the shooters on his wrists instead. It seemed that he was happy enough trying to spell out words on one of the walls, which was damned difficult with the old mechanical pair that Wade had stolen, and yet it didn’t prove enough distraction for Peter to forget how he felt. Instead, he felt rather _hollow_ and broken. He just wanted to forget. He wanted the guilt to go away, along with the shame, but it lingered and remained. He wanted it _gone_.

“So you two traded costumes?”

“Spider-Man, what are you doing?” Steve asked. “You know that you can’t risk being out like this, not in your condition. Come on; let’s get you back to the tower. We can talk about this properly in private . . . it’s not safe for you to be out here in your condition.”

“No. I’m – I’m not talking about this. I’m not talking about any of it.”

“You’re not talking about why you left in costume?”

“I – I just – I can’t do -!”

He raised his hands to his face and rubbed at the mask. It caused whatever was inside to flake, so that the taste of iron got upon his lips, and suddenly he was heaving and retching in ways that he never thought possible. Peter stumbled a few feet backwards and raised his hand to signal them to keep their distance, before he looked imploringly to Wade and let his arm slowly fall, before he looked down sadly and shook his head. It was so strange to see Wade in his mask, but – right then – it felt as if even Wade had more right to the name ‘Spider-Man’ than he did. Peter took another step back and glanced across the cityscape.

“I have to go,” said Peter.

“Whoa,” Tony snapped. “Stay a second.”

Tony made to move forward, but Peter jumped. He landed on the ledge and rested on all fours, with his fingertips pressed lightly upon the tile, and he resented the way that he had to keep his legs almost obscenely apart to make room for the bulge. There wouldn’t be long before he would be unable to bend this way at all, but then what would he do and what could he do? He wanted to be useful, to make amends for his past, but to just _rest_ felt almost sinful, as if he were spitting in the memory of those he lost.

The two men stood as if they expected him to _jump_ jump, whilst Wade only turned curiously and fiddled about in a pouch that hung loosely off his belt, and Peter thought he caught a glimpse of the teleporting device that he used so often in the past. He drew in a broken breath, as he looked between Steve and Tony awkwardly, and saw the way that Tony took slow and cautious step forward, so that he almost appeared to want to reach for Peter and take a hold of him, but Peter didn’t want that. He just wanted to _forget_ for one evening. He wanted to forget the baby, the blood, the loss of being Spider-Man . . . he wanted to forget the pain and the guilt, the shame and the grief . . . he wanted to forget.

“I have to go! I – I can’t do this!”

“Spider-Man! Wait!”

He couldn’t.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some sexual content towards the end. 
> 
> Skip from the dialogue ending "I won't regret!", to avoid this content.

# Chapter Ten

Peter climbed through the window.

It was difficult to close in his state, so that – the more he fumbled on the catch – the more frustrated he became, until he slammed it closed and heard the glass rattle. He rested his forehead upon the cool glass; he braced himself high with a hand and foot upon the window, whilst the other two rested upon the wall, and he tried to catch his breath. There was a brief moment where he simply closed his eyes and wished that he could turn time back, so that none of this happened and none of it was a cause for concern . . .

He eventually managed to catch his breath and jumped back, until he landed on the floor close to the walk-in closet. The movement caused his stomach to lurch and tense, until he was forced to rip off the mask and fling it across the room, where he heard the sickening smack of it against the glass and actually felt his stomach contents leave once more. It didn’t help that there was still a grotesque puddle of vomit by his clothes from before, just as he could see the specks of blood on the clothing, and the room held a pungent smell at the best of times. Peter felt as if he were choking. He couldn’t control it. It was overwhelming and wouldn’t seem to stop, and the worry of life in general – combined with his health – was too much.

It took longer than he would have liked to find the strength to stand, at which point he felt the baby move inside and groaned at the sensation, as if – even for the briefest of moments – they couldn’t allow themselves to be forgotten in the slightest. Peter took a few staggered steps to the side. He stumbled over his feet, whilst he felt his eyes grow dry and sore, and he took the moment to turn around and collapse against the bedroom wall, as he peeled off his gloves and tried to fight the sweat over his body. The boots were easier to kick off than expected, and suddenly he was able to breathe again. He felt less constrained overall.

“Need a hand, baby boy?”

Peter clenched his eyes closed, before he glared at Wade. The older man grabbed at the Spider-Man mask and ripped it off, although he treated it with far more respect than Peter had done to the Deadpool mask, which – he reluctantly admitted – sent a wave of absolute guilt through him. He sent a nervous look over to the mask that was now laid half on the floor and half on glass, but he could only bite his lip in hopes that it would ground him and prevent him from walking across the room to retrieve it. Peter threw his hands up and grasped at his hair.

He watched as Wade stepped closer and placed the mask down on a dresser behind him, and he felt as the ex-mercenary leaned into his space, so that he could feel the press of his chest against his arm and the heat of his breath close to his ear. The lack of personal space was easy to ignore, as it meant that Wade wasn’t paying attention to _him_. Peter could feel the flush to his cheeks, as well as the fact that there were tearstains down his face and far too much moisture beneath his nose, and he knew that he looked a mess. He didn’t want Wade to see him so devastated, because he was supposed to be Wade’s role model and in control . . .

“I can’t do this,” Peter whispered.

“You going to tell me what?” Wade asked.

Peter shook his head. It was difficult to give words to everything that he felt, but what he did feel was _trapped_ . . . he knew that his child now came first, but he was so scared of losing them, so scared of resenting them . . . he both loved them and hated them with the same breath, and he hated himself for _feeling_ so conflicted! He was scared that it made him a monster, but to admit that aloud would risk being _seen_ as a monster in turn. Peter ran his hands over his neck and chest, before he realised that he was still in costume.

“I – I can’t have this conversation now!”

“Hey! You have any idea how pissed Papa Stark is right now?” Wade asked. “I think he wanted an explanation or something, but I told him that my baby boy comes first! Ah -! What happens if we’re _having_ a baby boy? Do I have to call you something else? I hope not! Anyway, Steve was pretty fair, so he said it’s okay for me to check on you! So – _bam, wham, slam_ – here I am, man! Would you believe the teleport thingy still works awesomely?”

“Great, so – so – so you came here to talk? Well done! You beat me here and got to see me looking like _this_! I – I don’t _care_ what Tony thinks or what Steve thinks or what – what _you_ think! I – I just – I can’t do this! I can’t! I can’t run away from it or take a break from it or – or – or -! This baby is _here_ and it’s _with_ me! I just want to _think_!”

“Thinking is the last thing you need, sweetums! You know what it’s like to be stuck inside your own head with no one else to talk to? You start to believe the shit you think, ‘cause no one else is there to contradict you! I ain’t going to let you do that to yourself!”

“This – _this_ – is what I hate! I don’t have any rights to make my own –”

“You don’t have a right to _make yourself crazy_!”

“I don’t have a right to anything!”

Peter pushed Wade hard across the chest. The other man took a step back and gazed at him coldly, enough that Peter was sure he would have been on the receiving end of a verbal or physical attack at any other time, because Wade didn’t take well to being hit without reason. The ex-mercenary endured so much pointless abuse, most of which he didn’t deserve, and he _respected_ Peter, even when Peter didn’t deserve his respect, and now Peter was throwing that back in his friend’s face! He felt cold and numb, so that he was forced to swallow hard.

It was difficult to see Wade look so offended, especially when Wade was the only other person that _knew_ how it felt to have this child _depend_ on them, to be _responsible_ for them, and yet Wade stood back with a hard gaze and pursed lips. The brown of his eyes was almost haunting, so that he could see both the worry and frustration, and he felt exactly the same way, because _even now_ he was being told how to feel . . . what to do . . . so that he wondered how Wade would react in his place, especially when he couldn’t envision Wade ever ‘taking it easy’ or ‘resting at home’. Peter ran a hand over his face and felt fresh tears.

“I – I’m scared, Wade,” he admitted.

He wiped again at his face, as he tried to get rid of the tears from his eyes, whilst Wade looked away out of respect. The shuddered breath that Peter drew in made him sound more fragile and vulnerable than he felt, which only caused Wade’s eyes to harden and a flicker of concern to cross over his expression, and Peter could only rub at his nose and swallow again to try and control himself. He let his left hand fall to his stomach, where it rubbed lightly.

“I’m scared, because I _don’t_ deserve this baby!”

“You think _you_ don’t deserve it? All I ever wanted was a family,” said Wade. “I only ever wanted someone to love and be loved back, but every time someone looks at _this_ ugly mug -? Do you know how many awesome women vomit on sight of it? Most use me for sex or for their amusement and then throw me away . . . one used me real good until I couldn’t get clean . . . men ain’t much better. I got some real abuse a few times, plus this one guy made me lose my mind, then turned me into a worse nut-job than usual . . .

“I’m not saying you have to keep the child for my sake, but don’t _I_ have a right? You’re the one that keeps telling me how I can be a hero and how I can change and how I can be something better than what I was! I know I’ve never been a real father, but I’ve bought diapers and I’ve changed them, too! I’ve helped save kids, plus I’m trying to be a good dad to Ellie, even if I’m not capable of doing it on my own yet! I want to be a father, Petey! I do! I’m just as scared as you are, because I’m so much _worse_ than you are! What’s going to happen when he or she looks at me and sees how ugly I am? They ain’t going to want to admit I’m their father! They’re going to be so ashamed and -!”

“You have _nothing_ to be worried about! You’re the ‘fun’ dad and the ‘cool’ dad! Ellie _worships_ you! No one has high expectations or expects _anything_ for that matter! They just expect you to _be there_! _I’m_ the one they expect to be ‘maternal’ and to set up house and – and – and to be this happy little househusband! I – I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I know I _want_ a life, and how does a baby fit into that? I – I just  -!”

“You’re just scared! Well, tough shit, because _we’re all scared_! You don’t get a monopoly on that just for carrying the kid! Least you can physically look after it, but what can I do? Any time you leave the room, my kid goes with you! I just have to _trust_ you ain’t going to eat arsenic or walk into traffic or something! I could lose them in an instant!”

“Well, I could lose them, too!” Peter screamed. “I can’t lose them! I can’t!”

“You won’t lose them, Petey! I won’t let you lose them!”

“You can’t _control_ that!”

Peter slammed his hand down on the dresser. The thought about the spotting he experienced came back to him, so that suddenly he felt faint and he was forced to hold onto the dresser with both hands to maintain balance, and he closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was difficult to endure the sting to his eyes, especially when they filled with tears and sweat and felt painful to even open. He couldn’t breathe, but he knew that he needed to slow his breathing for the child’s sake. The spots of blood were worrying enough . . .

“I – I don’t deserve this baby!”

“No one deserves a baby more than you! You lost so fucking _much_! This isn’t some punishment from God, Petey; it’s just more like a backwards kind of gift! You always wanted a child, right? Well here you are! Your reward for being a good guy!”

“It doesn’t feel like a reward! I never wanted a child like this!”

“With _me_ you mean? Yeah, well, I’m _sorry_ , okay?”

“You – you –! I didn’t -!”

Wade lifted his middle finger. It felt worse than it ought, but Peter would readily admit that he couldn’t control his emotions much lately, and he felt alienated and isolated when Wade acted like that, as if he were truly alone. The older man took another step back, whilst he let his eyes move from mask to mask, as if unsure of which to grab, and Peter – partly out of sympathy and mostly out of guilt – let his fingers gently fall on the Spider-Man mask and clench around them . . . until Wade shook his head and stepped back.

The ex-mercenary was about to walk away, which meant that he would probably grab another mask of Peter’s on the way out, _just_ so that he wouldn’t have to accept anything from the man that hurt him so deeply, but -! It wasn’t Peter’s intent to hurt him! He never wanted to imply that the didn’t want _Wade’s_ child, even if having a baby with someone he wasn’t involved with happened to be a big issue, but Wade was just so _sensitive_ and this whole thing was just so _difficult_! The room still smelled strongly, too, which only added to his nausea and desperation, and the boxes and growing darkness made it seem so _barren_.

It was then that Wade turned his back. A wave of absolute panic shot through Peter, so that he shot out his hand and yanked Wade around. The older man looked as if he felt a mixture of fury and sorrow, whilst his brown eyes narrowed to mere slits, and suddenly Peter’s hands were shaking and his mouth felt dry . . . he was choking back heaving sobs, unable to breathe, unable to see through the tears. He felt weak for begging, but begging was all he had left.

“Don’t – don’t walk away, Wade!”

“You wanted space,” snapped Wade. “Well, have it!”

“I don’t _want_ space! I don’t know what I want! I just want –!”

Peter wrung his hands and began to pace. Wade shook his head and angrily undid the pouch on his side, before he flung it across the room and began to pull of the Spider-Man top, before the material got caught on the web-shooters and caused him to rip the whole thing off noisily, which made him swear loudly and throw the tattered remains on the floor. Peter winced at the display of anger, as he walked back and forth in a desperate need to keep busy. Wade kicked at the bed several times, until the frame cracked. He finally grabbed a hold of Peter and forced him to stand still. Peter let out a moan of frustration.

“You want _what_?” Wade asked.

Their emotions were running high, but Peter _knew_ that he couldn’t risk Wade leaving. He didn’t want to be alone, just as he couldn’t bear the guilt of hurting his friend, and all his fears and feelings were boiling over . . . waiting to break out . . . and he had no _release_! He didn’t _know_ what he wanted! He – he just wanted for it to stop! He wanted some sort of break and to forget and for it to end! There – there was Wade . . . shirtless and angry and looking so full of _passion_ . . . it reminded him of what he _missed_. He needed – he just needed -!

Peter took a quick step forward and wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck, before he pressed a bruising and fervent kiss to the other man’s lips. It was beyond his control. He felt scarred and chapped lips freeze in surprise for a brief moment, even as Peter pressed himself high on tiptoes and pulled Wade’s head closer, and then – in a fast and furious movement – he felt arms embrace him and hold him impossibly tight. One hand, rough and calloused, came under his top and rubbed at his back, whilst those lips opened enough that Peter was able to move his tongue and kiss him deeply, tasting a strange mixture of blood and spice, causing him to groan and grind against Wade. Wade pulled away as quick as he reciprocated.

“Shit, Petey! You can’t just -!”

“You!” Peter gasped. “Just for tonight, I want _you_!”

“You’re in a vulnerable place! I’ve had that shit done to me plenty of time,” Wade said, even as he wrapped a hand into Peter’s hair. “I’m not going to take advantage of you! You’re all wet with crying and sad and scared of being a parent and –”

“Shut up! Just shut up, Wade! I want this! I _need_ to forget for just one night!”

“I don’t want you to regret anything. I can’t do that to you.”

“It’s _you_! I _trust_ you! I won’t regret!”

Peter pulled him around, before he pushed him back onto the bed. Wade fell so that his legs were parted and he rested up on his elbows, as he looked up at Peter nervously, but he also looked so deeply erotic and – as much as Peter hated to say it – _vulnerable_. There was a red flush to his body, but what Peter noticed most were how brilliantly defined those muscles were and how there wasn’t even an ounce of body fat anywhere upon him, and those brown eyes appeared dilated and full of complete want. Peter licked his lips.

They looked at each other for a long while, until Wade let out a rather devilish laugh, and then reached up to grab a hold of Peter’s wrist and pull him gently onto the bed, rolling _just enough_ to catch Peter’s weight and protect him from a sudden fall. It was a move easy to appreciate, because he had been starting to nervously get second thoughts. Wade ran his hands around the lower hem of his top and pulled it off, and then flung it across the room, followed by a hard stare at Peter’s body that left him feeling self-conscious. It was enough to cause him to crawl backwards and to the side, so that he could lay his head on the pillows and raise his legs to try and hide his body, but Wade only followed. He gently pulled apart his legs to lie between them, only to look down at his body hungrily.

It was strange to feel a hand beside his head, which braced Wade’s weight, just as it was strange to feel the other man’s eyes locked solely upon his stomach. Wade looked at him with absolute adoration; he ran his free hand over Peter’s body, where he briefly paused to touch upon a nipple, causing a jolt of pleasure to course through him, before he made his way down, until he reached the swollen stomach. He massaged the tight skin in an almost tender manner, even ignoring the way that a dark line was beginning to form in Peter’s happy trail, or the way his belly-button was fast becoming an outward one.

“I – I don’t want to lead you on,” Peter muttered.

Wade snapped out of his trance and looked into Peter’s eyes, where he smiled and leaned down to place loose and wet kisses along his neck. It was enough to make Peter moan and arch his back, so as to make access easier, before he fumbled with his hands below to undo Wade’s zipper and try to force down his trousers. They came down easily enough, even as Wade shuffled out of them and kicked them to one side, and Peter licked his lips nervously as he caught sight of a member covered in sores, just like the rest of Wade’s body. The member was soon hidden when Wade settled between his legs, as his stomach hid much from sight.

“Your hand’s on my butt,” whispered Wade.

The words were said right in his ear. It sent a wave of arousal through him, as the warm air struck just right, and – a few seconds later – the actual meaning of the words penetrated his mind and he realised that he was fondling Wade’s buttock. It was incredibly firm and felt oddly good to the touch, but it only served to remind him that this _wasn’t_ a woman he was with, even if the erection pressed against him was a reminder enough. Peter moaned in frustration, before he used his strength to flip them over, and sat on Wade’s lap.

“I – I mean it,” snapped Peter. “I’m not – I’m not gay!”

“You could have fooled me, baby boy.”

“I’m not gay,” said Peter. “I’m not bi either, and – I – I – _oh God._ ”

Wade pulled him down enough to reach up, so that he could wrap a tongue around Peter’s nipple and suck quite firmly, with his tongue moving in ways that Peter imagined a lot of women would _greatly_ appreciate down below . . . he always knew that his nipples were sensitive, but Wade was able to make them feel incredibly good, even using _just enough_ teeth not to be painful and yet to add some stimulus. It reminded him a little of Gwen, although MJ never had been able to be _that_ good. Peter ached with arousal. It was painful.

“Don’t worry about labels, Petey. You got to take life one step at a time, and if you enjoy something –” Wade thrust against him with a growl “– does it matter why? Clearly you’re into this, I can feel that much. _Peter Parker: Live and Uncut . . ._ well, more ‘cut’, but -”

Peter pushed Wade down by his shoulders. He took the chance to undo his bottoms and slide them off, before he looked down desperately at Wade, and realised that – for once – the older man was uncharacteristically silent. It was hard not to feel those eyes on his cut length, just as he could see Wade’s huge and uncut girth beneath him, and it was then that he felt those calloused hands wrap around his waist, gripping tightly enough to bruise. He felt breathless and incredibly hot, with his skin aching and burning for more . . .

They shared a look for a moment, before Peter thrust himself against Wade’s length, which caused both men to groan loudly. They moved together a few times, as Peter threw back his head and exposed his throat, letting breathless gasps escape him, until he reached down to wrap a hand around both their lengths, moving them together. It felt a little sore without lubrication, but Wade was weeping copious amounts of pre-come and felt so damned hot against him, with the feeling of the foreskin something foreign and exotic and all too erotic, especially when he could hear those incredibly vocal moans issue forth from his throat. A few seconds later, Wade was clutching at the pillow and begging for more.

“S-seriously, this is just a one-time thing . . .”

“One time is all you need, right?” Wade asked. “You just want to forget.”

“I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want you to feel you’re taking advantage of –”

Wade used a hand to let go of his death-grip on the pillow, where he pulled Peter down and kissed him passionately. There was a brief click of teeth, which was a little painful at first, before they fell into something almost perfect, each one battling the other for dominance of the kiss, until Peter was writhing for more, even as he felt that hand disappear and hide itself under the pillow as if in search of something. He continued to masturbate them both, until Wade dropped something cold on his back that caused him to pull back in shock.

“I get it, Petey,” said Wade. “Just one night.”

Peter looked at him dazed and confused, until he looked behind him to see a bottle of lubrication, something that he rarely ever used in his past relationships, but he took the bottle and saw that it was cinnamon scented and flavoured. He licked his lips, but then felt Wade spread his legs wide, until Peter was forced to climb off and crawl between them, where he was presented with an incredibly close-up view of Wade’s somewhat impressive length.

It made him wonder how it would feel to take him in his mouth. He never prepared a man before, only ever hearing very vague and brief references to it from Danny, who was too respectful of his partners and himself to ever divulge more. Peter wondered whether oral sex might distract Wade from the preparation, which couldn’t be pleasant, but then – if it weren’t pleasant – why would he consent to it? He wondered how easy it would be to take another man into his mouth, how he would taste and react, and whether he had a gag reflex that he would need to suppress . . . he wanted Wade to feel good, too.

“Just one night,” whispered Peter.

“Fine by me,” Wade replied.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

# Chapter Eleven

“Hey there, Bug-Breath.”

Peter blinked away the sleep, before he looked to Wade. The older man leaned on his elbow, whilst he looked lovingly over Peter’s body, and the sheets had fallen above the hollow of his hips. It left a great deal of skin on show. There was a lot to appreciate, especially in the golden light of the sunrise, but the hard lines of defined muscles left him feeling a little uncomfortable, especially when it served as a reminder of exactly how masculine the other man was that shared the bed. He didn’t want to think about what that meant for his sexuality.

It was difficult to ignore the way that Wade smiled so warmly, even as the gesture cracked the dry and sore skin at the corner of his mouth, so that the skin began to bleed just slightly, and – as Peter looked grumpily to him – he felt a twinge of concern and made to reach out. He wondered how Wade could bear the pain of his disorder, but he just smiled and looked over Peter with brown eyes filled with complete admiration . . . Peter realised that his hand was inches from his friend’s mouth, before he froze in realisation and dropped his hand to the mattress with a sigh. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled onto his back, as he glared up at the ceiling.

“Romantic, aren’t you?” Peter muttered.

“Hey, one time thing, remember?” Wade laughed.

Peter frowned, although he tried to hide it by placing his arm over his eyes, and instead it only seemed to add to Wade’s laughter, which made the bed shake a little with the vibrations and jerking movements. A second later, Wade scooted closer. He wrapped an arm around the waist of the younger man, even as Peter groaned and tried to fidget out of the grip, and – soon enough – he felt an erection pressed against his leg, which made it clear that Wade had a morning wood that needed relieving. Peter drew in a long breath, as he felt the strange sensation against him. It didn’t help that he was sticky with sweat, semen and lubrication.

“I’m just not a morning person,” Peter murmured.

“Me either,” replied Wade. “Still, I could get used to mornings like these! I was totally going to blow your mind by blowing your cock, but then I thought you might just blow my brains out for trying! Ha! You know that the more you say ‘blow’ the weirder it sounds?”

“Wade, I really don’t think we can get too used to this. It’s not going –”

“Blow! _Blow, blow, blow_!”

The room felt oddly chilly, but with Wade against him – chanting ‘blow’ childishly over and over – he felt somewhat protected from the cold. It was nice to feel the press of another body against his own, even as Wade entangled his legs with Peter’s and nuzzled into his neck, so that his nose brushed against Peter’s neck. There was an oddly intimate feeling about the situation, which he supposed was likely natural, but it also felt wrong when he knew that nothing could come from it. He didn’t want to lead Wade on, only to hurt him later.

“Whatever,” Peter muttered.

He made to climb out of bed, but Wade pulled him back. It took him only a second to swing his legs out, just as it took Wade only a second to force him to return, and yet – instead of feeling irked or inconvenienced – there was something nice about being wanted, especially when it enabled him to return to the basic human contact. A part of him wondered what Wade _saw_ in him, because he knew that he was less interesting as Peter Parker . . . less confident, less attractive, less witty . . . still, Wade – unlike others – didn’t seem to _mind_.

Wade reached out to draw patterns on Peter’s skin with his finger, before he accidentally touched upon the growing stomach and paused. There was a long moment where both men froze, unsure of how to continue or acknowledge the elephant in the room, but Wade decided to take some initiative and lowered his hand. He rubbed at the taut skin with a calloused hand, which caused Peter to moan appreciatively and nuzzle into his pillow, as he gave a contented smile and closed his eyes. No one else had yet touched his stomach. He was glad for that fact, but there was also something _very_ relaxing to have Wade massage and stroke it, especially when the skin usually felt so tight and ached so awfully.

“Petey, serious moment?”

“Are you capable of being serious?” Peter asked.

“Totally! Look, I don’t want to be all sentimental and stuff, but -! Okay, well, it’s like this . . . I feel bad for asking, because you were all in a bad place and stuff, so it feels like I was taking advantage, so I ain’t got much right to expect anything from you, but . . . I don’t know . . . could we just cuddle some nights? Not like as a couple, because I know you don’t want that yet, but . . . it’s nice to be close to my hero and my kid. Feel less alone, you know?”

Peter opened his eyes at that revelation. He couldn’t help but to think that the hand on his stomach suddenly felt different, as if the very touch changed with the perceived intent behind it, and he could feel how slow and controlled the touches were, just as how gentle and longing they felt in turn. There was a look in Wade’s eyes that spoke of fear, as if he felt as frightened as Peter did of losing their child, and there was also a sprinkling of moisture that spoke of unshed tears, as if he were about to cry in happiness.

He rolled onto his side and raised a hand to Wade’s cheek, where he stroked lightly with his thumb and raised the man’s head to look into his eyes. It was hard to think of a time when he ever touched Wade in such a way, but they were such close friends and they _were_ sharing a bed together, to the point that only the sheets covered their modesty, and – in all honesty – the sheet actually wasn’t covering Peter’s at all, since he tried to climb out. They felt each other in places felt by so few others . . . saw each other alive in orgasm . . . collapsed in each other’s arms breathless . . . it seemed strange to be afraid of this small intimacy now.

They looked at each other warmly for a long while, before Wade pulled Peter as close to him as possible, so that his swollen stomach touched against him, and he lovingly ran a hand up and down the younger man’s sides. It was nice. The sunlight streamed through and warmed his skin, whilst it gave a strange glow to Wade’s eyes, and a part of him wondered whether he would ever have morning like this again once the child was born. He knew it wouldn’t necessarily be with Wade, but with anyone . . . what would happen with a crying baby, or a child that ran into his room for cuddles, or a teenager banging the door to ask a question? It was a surreal thought and he was reminded that life would never be the same again. It was time to think about how life _would_ be, because he needed to plan before the inevitable came.

“You going to say something, Petey?”

“I – er – yeah, I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I – I would like that . . . to be closer, I mean! I didn’t mean to lead you on, I swear, but I just needed to forget for one night and – _oh God_! This – this is so _weird_! I never really thought about the morning after the night before thing, but we just -! _We made love!_ I mean, what does that mean? Like, am I gay now? Bi? I’m carrying your child, too, but that can’t be our reason for getting together and –! God, it was _so_ good!”

“Better than your redheaded babe? Got to admit, I’m just treating it as a good sign that you aren’t jumping into your skivvies and legging it out of bed! It’s nice to have someone to share the afterglow! Well, you have a glow of your own anyway, what with the pregnancy and all, but now you’ve got a little Wade in you _and_ had Little Wade in you! Cool, huh?”

“Oh God! We – we can’t be having this discussion! This didn’t mean _anything_! You’re like one of my best friends and I’m not _ruining_ that with _sex_ of all things! I’m not ashamed of what we did, but I _don’t_ want you broadcasting it, either! This is between us!”

“Ooh, am I your dirty little secret?”

Peter sighed heavily, before he punched Wade hard on his arm. The older man winced and rubbed his limb with a pout, before Peter remembered a horrible flashback to an event with MJ, just as he remembered how he swore never to hurt his partner – or future partners – ever again. He never wanted to become the monsters that he fought. It was a gesture that wasn’t meant to be abusive, but _any_ kind of physical hit was inappropriate, especially with Wade’s history, and so he knew that he’d have to explain himself, before Wade got the wrong idea.

“No, you’re my insane, adequately-sized lay,” Peter muttered. “It’s not a secret as far as I’m concerned, but I don’t want you _bragging_ about it, because people will get the wrong idea! I don’t want people to think this is more than just – just -!”

“I’m starting to think I banged your brains out there! I mean, how can you not be ashamed of someone like -? _Hey!_ What do you mean ‘adequately-sized’? I can put Cable to shame! That statue of his exaggerated what that T.O. mesh could do! Plus, it’s so cold in here and I only have these sheets, although I guess I can’t use that excuse with a raging –”

“S-shut up, Wade! No boner conversations! It’s – it’s inappropriate! _Yes_ , I get the irony of that when we both . . . well . . . _you know_ . . . still, we aren’t a couple and we aren’t friends-with-benefits; we’re just two guys that spent a night together. I’m not going to lead you on like that! If – if you want to spend time with me . . . or our kid . . . I’d like that, so you can talk to my stomach and touch it, but it can’t be romantic . . . it just _can’t_.”

“I don’t need it to be anything more! I just don’t want to be alone, baby boy. You don’t know what it’s like . . . well, maybe _you_ do, but then you know I can’t go through that again! You’re one of the few people to like me for me . . . crazy, I know, but –”

“Remind me to convince _you_ to love you for you.”

“Never going to happen!”

Peter groaned sadly. He reached a hand up to stroke over his friend’s head, to try and comfort him, but he knew that it would take a great deal of time to overcome his issues, if he ever overcame them at all. It may have been naïve of him to think that some physical intimacy would have given Wade a boost in self-esteem, but surely Wade didn’t think that Peter would make love to just anyone? Actually, Peter would have to admit that maybe a one-night stand didn’t give the impression of exclusivity at all . . . still, it hurt him to see Wade upset.

They lay together quietly for a long while, until Peter sighed and looked around for his phone or a watch or a clock, but everything was packed away or thrown on the floor. He didn’t want to get out of bed, not when it felt so relaxing to be in Wade’s arms, but he knew that he was due to meet MJ for breakfast. It had been so awkward lately to be around her; the break-up was messy, just as they’d clung together mainly out of grief, and now her relationship with his team-mate – and friend, too – only made it all the more complicated. If he missed this breakfast, she would think that he was avoiding her. He needed to salvage their friendship.

“Er, I promised MJ I’d meet her at work . . .”

“No problem! Next time you owe me one morning lounging in bed, followed by all the pancakes that you could eat! They’re on me! Not _literally_ on me, but maybe we could do that, too, but with lots of maple syrup and whipped cream! What about the sheets, though?”

“No! No ‘next time’! We’ll talk about this later, okay? I’m going to be late.”

“Okay, but can I sing to the baby? I hear people sing to them.”

“They do, but why -? Sure, I guess.”

Wade slid down the bed. There was a laugh from him that sounded almost devilish, to the extent that Peter was afraid he might try to do something inappropriate, but he only placed kisses all over Peter’s abdomen. He stroked and ran his hands over the skin, until it began to make Peter ticklish, and soon he was laughing in turn, as both men began to touch and paw at his stomach, until he remembered that this wasn’t the time for games. He sat up and gently pulled Wade’s hands away with a smile, then swung out of bed.

“Okay, now I really have to get ready!”

He climbed out of bed and tried to ignore Wade’s eyes on him, even as he bent over to pick up his clothes and the Spider-Man uniform, and – as he left the room – he was _sure_ that he saw Wade doing things that he _really_ didn’t need to see. He ran across the room, through the gym, and into the shower. It took him only a few minutes to get clean and ready for the day, even as he emptied his bowels and felt relieved at the lack of specks of blood. He gave a contented sigh and changed into his clothes from the previous day.

Peter ran back to the bedroom and tripped in the doorway, although he caught his balance in time not to cause any damage and to look up to see just _why_ Wade was muttering ‘boingy’ in a continuous manner to himself. He let out a sound between a high-pitched yelp and a low growl, as he spun around and covered his eyes with his hand, and made a mental note that – if they ever _did_ decide to live together or start a relationship – that they would need a rule in which Wade only ever did _that_ behind a locked door. It took his disregard of personal boundaries to whole new levels, even as Peter blushed profusely and desperately tried not to turn around. He bit his lip and shook his head awkwardly.

“I’ll be back later, Wade,” said Peter. “I promise.”

“Awesome! I’ll clean up the vomit and sheets! I’ll move the boxes over to your aunt’s, too, and my place, because aren’t we supposed to be setting up shop at yours and mine? I might leave some stuff at your aunt’s, just in case I stay over!”

“O-okay, but I have to go! I’ll see you later!”

“Bye, Petey! Love you!”

Peter winced at that declaration. Luckily, he managed to hide his expression with his back turned to Wade, as he was afraid that the ex-mercenary would have taken offence and internalised it to the point of depression. It was not that Peter was offended by the love of his friend, but it was just too early into any potential relationship and he _really_ couldn’t afford to lead Wade on, and yet – despite clearly stating over and over that this meant nothing – Wade was beginning to get emotionally invested. It was like the ‘best buds’ dilemma all over again.

The only difference was that they _had_ become friends over time, so that the lie gained an ounce of truth, but Peter wasn’t sure whether they would ever become a couple, especially with things as they currently were. He turned his head enough so that Wade could see his smile, although it was forced and insincere, but Wade already curled up into a ball and wrapped himself in the sheets, so that he seemed almost childlike and peaceful. Peter felt a stab of guilt, before he gently closed the door with a soft click. It was strange to have this physical barrier between the two of them, but he needed time to think and work through his emotions, and hopefully MJ would be able to help him to do that.

It was silent in the apartment, even as he awkwardly tried to overcome the gymnasium’s impromptu obstacle course, and – when he left into the hallway – he couldn’t help but to cast a final glance back, as if he might suddenly see Wade appear. Peter placed a hand on the door and gave a sigh, as he let his hand clench into a fist and lightly banged against the wood, as he debated whether it would be worth going back inside and cancelling his morning with MJ, but that really _would_ be leading Wade on. Instead, he opted to walk past the Captain America décor, even as he questioned Tony’s decorating style, and headed to the elevator.

He didn’t need to wait long . . .

The elevator came quickly, so that he was able to make it to the ground floor in record time. He hopped out and sent a quick text to Steve and Tony, as he promised to speak to them later, before he hailed a cab and made his way to the _Bugle_. It should have been an easy enough journey, but – at a certain point – he realised that the cab hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes, and that the pedestrians nearby were only moving in one hurried direction. Peter sighed and sent a message to Tony, just in case something was wrong.

A few seconds later and helicopters could be heard overhead, along with sirens, and Peter found himself compelled to get out and take a look at exactly _what_ was happening, especially when the cab was _trapped_ in place, unable to reverse or move forward. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, only to see that the block the _Bugle_ had been cordoned off and officers and a few familiar faces patrolled the perimeter, and the crowds that rushed by seemed to be in an absolute panic. They were mostly workers from the building or nearby, as Peter recognised a few of them, and suddenly he felt a sense of dread . . . something was wrong.

It was then that his phone rang. He almost didn’t want to look, but MJ was supposed to be working inside and if something happened to her -! It was difficult to endure the thought, because – even if he _had_ his costume – he was in no condition to fight or climb or swing, and all he could do was _wait_! He could feel his heart race unbearably, just as he could feel his hands sweat and shake, and just answering the phone became a chore, as he struggled to push the button or control the anxiety in his voice. This couldn’t be happening now!

“Hey, MJ? What’s up?”

_‘It – it’s the_ Bugle _! I think it’s the Goblin! Oh God, they’re evacuating the building, but Sam was here and he’s – he’s hurt! I can’t get him to wake up! The – the Avengers are on their way, and your team, but I don’t -! You need to stay away, Peter!’_

“You – you’re joking, right? I’m at the building now! I’m outside!”

_‘You . . . they said . . . Sam . . . go . . . Peter.’_

“You’re c-cutting off, MJ!”

The phone dipped in and out of service, so that he wondered whether a blocker was being used to cut off the cell-reception, but it could also just be that damage was sustained to a nearby tower. He looked at his phone to check MJ was still on the line. Oh God, what if something bad happened? What if Sam was dying or severely injured? What if they _needed_ him and he was just _standing_ there! Peter made his way over to the pavement and began to pace, as he lifted the phone to his ear and blinked away frustrated tears.

“MJ? Mary Jane! Answer, please!”

‘I . . . go . . . unsafe –’

The phone cut off abruptly. Peter swore to himself and began to bang the phone against his palm, but it didn’t help in the least and his attempts and dialling her back failed. There was no signal at all, almost as if someone or something _was_ blocking the signal, and he wondered why an attack _here_ and _now_. It wasn’t as if anyone knew his identity as Peter Parker, save for a very small pool of heroes and the odd villain, but clearly someone had targeted _his_ previous place of employment, _his_ friends, on a day _he_ intended to visit . . .

He didn’t want to feel paranoid, but he couldn’t do anything other than feel worried. The child inside of him was at risk for so long as _he_ was at risk, which meant that being jostled by the crowds wasn’t good for either of them, not to mention the adrenaline rush with his fear and frustration could be harmful to the baby, already at risk due to the spotting that he still needed to report to Bruce. Peter shook his head and ducked out of the way, as he headed into an alley to escape the crowds. Okay, he just needed to think _carefully._ The roads were jammed, whilst the subway would probably be overcrowded and out of commission, and walking anywhere wouldn’t be safe . . . he needed to sit and wait this out. If he could just make sure the GPS on his phone was active, his team could find him later.

In the distance he spotted a glimpse of Danny. It made him wonder whether it would be worth breaking cover in the alley to get his attention, but Sam sounded injured and MJ was in danger, whilst no one knew Peter’s identity and he was safe out of the way. Okay, the Goblin was a threat, but he was likely in the _Bugle_ building. Peter began to pace in the alley, but soon there was a smell of smoke and the sounds of objects smashing, so that – very close by – he could hear glass shattering onto the ground and the screams of panicked people, and the smoke was growing denser and denser, so that he struggled to breathe.

“Okay, I just need to get out of the area,” he muttered.

‘Everyone! Clear the perimeter! I need a five-block radius!’

There was Coulson’s voice, at least. It was a good sign, because Peter only needed to find a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to be escorted to safety, although that also meant leaving the safety of the alley to try and fight his way through the crowds. Still, he couldn’t stay in the smoke! He was too close to the source, whilst he risked being caught in the fray should the fight escape the building, and he needed to think of his baby first and foremost. He drew in a few broken and shuddered breaths, before he turned to leave the alley. The way was blocked.

Peter raised a hand to his mouth, as the nausea struck and he felt a sense of absolute dread, and he stumbled backwards and was forced to clutch the wall for balance. The whole alley seemed to move about him; he turned to see a dead-end, whilst an all too familiar face blocked the other end, and he wanted nothing more than to hide. He could jump, but there were no fire escapes or windows, and what if he slipped or missed or was chased? The palpitations he felt were unbearable, and the phone in his hand began to vibrate as if someone finally managed to get through or hack his GPS. He closed his eyes for a brief second.

“Peter Parker,” said the voice. “I’m surprised to see you here!”

Peter opened his eyes to see the Goblin. It felt as if he should have expected this to happen at some point, especially due to the vendetta that the middle-aged man held against him, but something about being pregnant . . . he never thought he would be subject to an ambush. The fact was that children were something sacred, so that even the cruellest of villains treated them as something ‘off-limits’, and he always thought that – out of uniform – he would be safe from such threats. He never thought for a second anyone would hate him _this_ much.

He clutched his stomach protectively, just as he took another step back. The child wasn’t even at the five month stage yet, which meant that he couldn’t afford to go into premature labour or risk any blows to his abdomen, and yet a horrible part of him wondered whether _this_ was what MJ felt during their relationship, when he struck out . . . it felt like a cruel karma . . . he was forced to wrap his arms around himself, even as he began to mentally calculate whether he could risk climbing the walls to get away. The Goblin was slowly approaching, so that – a few seconds later – Peter flinched as he found himself bumping against the wall at the dead-end. He drew in a deep breath, before he looked down.

The fear he felt was intense, but he knew that he had to remain calm for the baby’s sake, so he drew himself up to full height and tried to look as confident as possible, even as he shielded his unborn child and felt incredibly nauseous from the smoke. The Goblin jumped from his board to take a step closer to Peter, at which point he could _see_ the look of frustration and betrayal in the other man’s eyes. He remembered how Norman respected him for so long, treated him as a son and more so than he did even Harry, and how he grieved for Harry when his son passed, as he questioned what could have been.

“Ah, I see now _why_ Spider-Man has been replaced by a madman.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” said Peter.

The Goblin laughed. It was a sound that sent a shiver though Peter, as he lowered one hand by his side, so that he could pull it into a fist and prepare a blow to defend himself. The laughter sounded almost broken, like the forced sound of a stage villain, something meant mockingly to hide the truth that – behind such laughter – there was a well of pain that was unbearable in its depths. He almost pitied the other man, because he knew just how deep the fear of losing a child ran, just as he grieved for Harry in turn.

“I see,” said the Goblin. “Well, I wonder whether now you can comprehend my pain. It’s impossible to understand the grief of a parent, unless you are a parent yourself, but – alas – that day may never come for you . . . maybe when you mourn for what could have been, you will remember that the grief of what has been is always so much worse. I hope this hurts you a lot more than it will me. You deserve to suffer for this.”

“I – I – I really don’t want any t-trouble! I’m sorry! I’m sorry every single day for what happened to Harry! He was my best friend! He – he was the only friend I had for a long time, and – and I – I don’t deserve to be forgiven for what I did, but I –”

“You’re right, you don’t deserve forgiveness.”

The blow came fast and hard. It struck him hard across the stomach, before another came – that felt hard like a fist – and suddenly Peter was in a blinding pain, enough that it forced him to double over and retch violently, as dark spots flicked across his vision. He let his arms fall slightly, as the slightest touch on his skin made his stomach feel aflame, as if small needles were being jammed into his skin, whilst everything felt tense and contracted and tore in such as way that he could barely breathe through the agony and terror.

There was a slight feeling of moisture from behind, which reminded him of the trouble he held with spotting until recently, and now he realised that he may have worse problems to contend with, just as he wondered whether he deserved this. He struggled to stand, even as he threw a hand out to try and find something to ground himself. The sounds that he issued forth barely seemed human, each one a horrific groan that grew higher-pitched with each one, and he began to hyperventilate as he bent over and kneeled down enough to almost enter a squat, and – in his mind – he began to run statistics of premature babies, as he tried to calculate the viability of survival and whether this . . . this might be another death to mourn . . .

It was then that he tried to stand, only to stumble back against the wall with a piercing cry of pain, as the Goblin found his board and took to flight once more with a laugh, and he looked up to see that his vision was doubled and the world wouldn’t stay still. He knew that he could survive a couple of stomach blows, but would his child? He spent three months unaware of their existence, nearly a month deciding whether to keep them, and these two weeks coming to terms with the fact that he wanted them . . . _he wanted them_ . . . only to now risk losing them forever. It was his fault! He – he shouldn’t have – he shouldn’t have . . .

“Goodbye, Peter,” said the Goblin.

The Goblin left, but his movements were a blur. Peter felt his phone buzz, but he no longer had the strength to hold it, so that all he heard was the crack of plastic hitting the floor. There was a moment of absolute fear as he felt light-headed, with his body feeling no longer his, as if he existed outside of himself, and the pain wracked through him . . . just not enough to ground him . . . not enough to erase the dizziness. He couldn’t breathe. He needed . . . he needed to protect them . . . the baby needed him . . . it was too much . . .

The last thing he remembered was falling . . .


	12. Chapter Twelve

# Chapter Twelve

_‘How’s he doing?’_

Peter stirred at the voice. It sounded familiar, but it hurt his ears to strain to hear it. There was something about it that was a comfort, just as there was something about it that made him want to crawl away and hide, but – most of all – it just hurt him to hear it . . . even the beeping of the machine next to him felt impossibly loud . . . he could feel his ears ache in protest, almost as much as his body. The pain in his stomach was as unbearable as it was strange, so that it was like a muscle ache . . . something deep and all over.

He could feel that he was on a bed of some sort, especially judging by the incredibly comfortable pillow that reminded him of earlier ultrasounds, and yet this time it wasn’t just sheets over his body to cover his modesty . . . he felt blankets . . . he felt the scratch of wool and the warm air of a heater nearby. There was a hard pinch on his finger, which felt like something was being held there, whilst his arm felt odd and hurt when he tried to bend it, as if there was something scratching him in the crook, preventing him from moving . . . there was a light over him that burned his eyes, despite being closed, too.

 _‘Stable,’_ came a reply. _‘No change in the past hour, Tony.’_

 _‘Well, what about Wilson? He should be here!_ Now _he decides to run off and -’_

 _‘Wade_ was _here, Tony. I turned by back for a_ second _when S.H.I.E.L.D. brought Peter into my lab; I managed to get him stabilised, whilst Coulson explained what treatment and first-aid had already been employed, and then I turn back around . . . we find Wilson cutting off slithers of skin to_ feed _to Peter. I nearly turned green, Tony._ Green. _Luckily, Coulson explained that Wilson was trying to help . . . healing factor and all . . .’_

_‘Oh. Oh! You didn’t think that was worth telling me? Peter he’s -! I love that kid! I’ve spent more time and money on him than I’ve done anyone else, and I’m kind of happy that I never had kids of my own, you know? Someone else raised Peter most of his life, whilst I still got to be there for him and guide him . . . he’s like my son without being a Stark.’_

_‘There’s nothing wrong with being a Stark. There’s also nothing wrong with being worried; Peter looks up to you, he thinks of you as his hero, so I think he’d appreciate your unique brand of sentimentality. Just don’t worry about Wilson. He’s – he’ll be back.’_

_‘What are you? The Terminator on Groundhog Day?_ ‘He’ll be back’. _’_

_‘Mock me all you like, but he’ll be back, yes.’_

Peter stirred a little and tried to focus. It was enough to make him want to sit up, but – the second he even flexed the muscles in his stomach and back – he felt an excruciating pain and was forced to lie back down, even as he panted and felt a wave of dizziness pass through him. There was a moment of panic, as he realised how serious this sounded . . . Wade had been feeding him _flesh_ , which was a thought that made him want to vomit then and there, except his stomach felt oddly empty . . . and Bruce nearly lost control, which he _never_ lost. He tried to control his breathing as Bruce taught him, but his lungs felt _raw_ and _hoarse_.

 _‘I just don’t_ trust _Wilson! What damage did he do?’_

_‘None, that I can tell. If anything, it may well be his healing factor that –’_

_‘That_ what _? Have you_ looked _at the kid? He’s – he’s a wreck! He’s not woken up; he looks paler than a sheet . . . the blood -! Rhodey hid all the booze in the tower, but I don’t think I’ll ever be drunk enough to deal with the blood! How’s he still alive?’_

 _‘Look, Wade left the tower dressed as Spider-Man, that’s all I know. Pepper says the last thing he said to anyone was that he’d remove his mask at the right moment, so everyone would know that it was_ him. _I’ve had May outside_ weeping _, but I can’t let her in, because how can I let her see Peter like this? Coulson keeps checking in for reports, when all I can say is that nothing has changed -! I don’t have all the answers, Tony. I’m just making do.’_

_‘You’re making do? You’re making do! If anything bad happens to him -!’_

“G-guys? K-keep it down?”

Peter managed to open his eyes. It took a long while, if only because they felt sore and scratched, as if someone had poured sand directly into them. It hurt to blink . . . the light burned him so that opening his eyes was beyond painful, but even keeping them closed hurt, too, as if anything other than total darkness would be unbearable. There were two shadows in front of his bed: one with a board and its hand pinching its nose, whilst the other paced and made wild gestures. The room began to spin and he felt nauseous again.

There was a brief few seconds before he felt surrounded, where the lights went dim and he felt people leaning over him, and then there was prodding and touching and talking, so that he started to feel less than human, like a slab of meat, until he saw their faces. Tony was something of a blur, so that – for a while – he saw two of him, and eventually he could just about make out the pain and panic he wore, as well as the tearstains, which worried Peter briefly. He felt light-headed and somewhat confused. Peter tried to lift a hand by his side to touch upon his stomach, but it was too heavy to move.

It was enough to make him break. He struggled to breathe as he thought about what he could have lost, along with the memory of them mentioning blood . . . there was a mask placed on him briefly, whispers of ‘breathe’, and the sound of beeping that increased . . . and suddenly he looked down enough to see that there was still a lump to his stomach. He _looked_ pregnant, but then so many women looked that way even after giving birth . . . it went down, but it – it took a while to go away completely, didn’t it? He – he may have – he couldn’t . . . 

“D-did – did I lose -?”

“You’re still pregnant,” said Bruce. “Barely.”

Peter let out a shuddered breath. It was then that the tears came, so that he could barely hold them back, and Tony appeared to panic at that . . . confused as to how to comfort Peter or whether he needed comforting . . . a few words were whispered, until he saw Tony give a few jerking movements towards him, before finally he began to mop his brow and wipe away the tears. Peter smiled brokenly, as he appreciated the gesture and – most of all – felt eternally grateful that his child was okay . . . for now, at least.

The thought of losing his child felt so _real_ , so that he couldn’t blame the Goblin for wanting revenge in some way, but _knowing_ that fear – being so _close_ to absolute loss – he couldn’t even imagine inflicting that pain willingly onto someone else. He wanted so much to touch his stomach, just to remind himself of the presence of his child, but he couldn’t move yet and everything felt so heavy. He had a healing factor of his own, which should have made this so much easier, but yet he was confined to this bed in what must have been Bruce’s personal laboratory, and everything was so grey and white and sterile. He didn’t know what to think, but he felt so _numb_. He couldn’t stop crying.

“I – I thought I lost them . . .”

“You nearly did,” whispered Bruce from his left. “If you were anyone else, you _would_ have lost the child . . . I’m still running tests, but you were incredibly lucky. This could still end badly, Peter. I’ve inserted a drip into your vein, whilst the catheter means that you won’t have to worry about getting out of bed . . . absolute bed-rest . . . _absolute_. Once you’re stable enough, we’ll move you into your apartment upstairs, but you won’t be able to leave the tower until the birth. I want you close by at all times, in case of an emergency.”

“O-okay, I – I can do that,” Peter said in a hoarse voice. “I can’t . . . I can’t lose them. I can’t lose them, Bruce . . . p-please . . . just – just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it. I won’t leave the bed, I swear! I just -! I never thought I would have a child like this, but I’m – I’m glad that I did, but – but if they die . . . if they die because _I_ was the one to let Harry die, because _I_ was the one _stupid_ enough to – to – to -!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Peter. We’re doing all we can. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave you the best emergency first-aid available, and I’ve been keeping you stable here as best as I can. Strange is on his way, just to check you over and make certain all is well, and Thor has even offered to go to Asgard to bring back one of their healers. Just stay strong.”

“The – the baby -! I – I was so certain I lost them. I was so sure they were gone.”

“Well, there’s where we have some good news.”

Bruce sat down beside him, where Peter heard the clipboard being slid onto the bedside table, followed by the squeak of the cushioned chair compressing under the weight of the older man, as the cushion protested against its rare use. He took a hold of Peter’s hand, which gave Peter something to hold and ground himself with, and – as he squeezed and held on with all the strength he could muster – he felt Tony sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, where he reached down to pat Peter on his arm and then looked across to Bruce questioningly.

“Good news?” Tony asked. “No one told me the good news.”

“You were arguing with Agent Preston about her response time,” said Bruce. “I remember, as I believe _someone_ then made a criticism to Ava about her team, which resulted in that same someone complaining that I wouldn’t treat their bloody nose.”

“Well, it hurt! Peter was asleep at the time! It wasn’t too big a deal.”

“I _told_ you that Peter needs _constant_ supervision.”

There was a moment of silence, whilst Tony threw his hands in the air, as he mocked surrender and then threw himself down lazily into a chair by Peter’s right side. He felt like a child being surrounded by both parents, with one on either side, so that – in a way – it felt almost comforting and reminded him of childhood, and yet it filled him with a sense of fear. If his child survived this, what would happen were they in this situation in the future? Tony always seemed so brave, whilst Bruce dealt with things so calmly, and yet Peter was sure that he would break down the second he saw his child in pain. He couldn’t be that strong.

Tony cast a glance to Peter’s stomach, which was covered by a white blanket and several sheets, as well as the hospital gown, and Peter wanted to sit up . . . he wanted to wrap his arms around his unborn child . . . he wanted to lie in bed whilst Wade sang songs to them, just as he promised earlier that morning. It was strange to think that yesterday he wanted nothing more to forget his child, but now he wanted nothing more than to hold them in his arms and never let them go. He knew he would _never_ forget them. Never.

“The – the good news?”

“Ah, well,” said Bruce, “we think the child _may_ have the X-Gene. It – it was something that was pretty much guaranteed with both your genetics and Wade’s, but it’s the _presentation_ of the gene that’s most interesting. You see; most mutants will first display their powers during their teenage years, but your child . . . I – I think they may have a healing factor. It would explain how they survived the damage sustained, but – well – it’s . . . it’s unusual. I only know of _one_ other mutant that displayed powers from within the womb, a _handful_ from birth.

“I know that you and Wade are both mutates, so it’s possible – with your genes suppressed by your mutate abilities and Wade’s being recessive – your child may have some unique powers of its own, but it most certainly has your shared healing factor. I also think that this has triggered _your_ healing factor into something more powerful . . . _this is just a theory_! I don’t know quite how powerful it is yet, but it’s certainly a lot more powerful than it once was, and that is why I need to consult with Strange . . . it may be a temporary effect from the spell, possibly your mutation adapting, possibly something else . . .”

“We got in contact with Beast,” said Tony casually. “He thinks – both of you having the X-Gene, you having a ‘radically altered reproductive system’ – that your kid may be an incredibly powerful mutant, assuming it survives this. I’m hoping this kid takes after you, as a supercharged Wade running about is something nightmares are made from.”

“That’s assuming Peter remains _stable_.”

Bruce gave Peter a stern look. It was enough to make Peter’s heart fall to his stomach, so that he felt a hollow and weightless sensation in his chest, which made him choke on the air for the briefest of seconds. He swallowed hard, enough that it felt like glass in his throat, and he struggled to breathe momentarily, so that he was forced to calm himself down, else he knew that Bruce wouldn’t hesitate to sedate him, although . . . he struggled to remember whether a sedative would be bad for the baby . . . he only hoped that the baby would be _okay_. They already sounded different . . . _born_ a mutant . . . how would he deal with that?

“How – how serious is this?” Peter asked.

“Your body is treating the baby as a foreign substance,” said Bruce. “It’s trying to _reject_ the baby, which means you likely would have experienced spotting and stomach cramps, and – whilst we can try to deal with this – it will make the pregnancy difficult. Rest assured, I think this is due entirely to your shift in reproductive physiology, so that any future pregnancies shouldn’t be this difficult, as your body will accept them, but . . .”

“Bruce thinks you would have experienced symptoms before now.” Tony pulled out a bag of nuts, which he apparently hid underneath the bed. “Not that the punch to your stomach helped much, but the fact your body is trying to reject the kid? Ten times worse.”

“Did you have any symptoms before now? Anything at all?”

“I – I was spotting, yeah,” Peter admitted.

Bruce gave an exhausted sigh, as he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face, before he crossed his legs and pulled at his lips with his hand. The older man gazed hard at the floor, whilst he squeezed Peter’s hand tightly. It was worrying, especially when he heard Tony swear under his breath on the other side and saw him shake his head, and – after he threw a nut in the air and caught it in his mouth – he slammed the bag he held down onto the bedside table. Peter bit his lip nervously as he was caught between them.

They sat in silence for a long while, as Peter listened to the sound of Tony’s heavy breathing and the rhythmic tapping of Bruce’s foot upon the tiled floor, and – as they sat quietly – he thought about how Wade would have been babbling aimlessly about now, just as he would have stroked Peter’s stomach comfortingly, and he realised that he missed his friend’s presence and wanted him there. He thought briefly towards Pepper and May, just as he thought to Coulson and to his team, and he wondered how long it would be until he would be allowed to speak to all of them. He wanted company, just as much as he wanted _rest_.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ us?” Tony snapped.

Peter tried to shrug, but it was difficult when he was lying down and every move of his muscles ached, and he regretted the movement as soon as he did it. The pain shot down to his stomach and reminded him that the baby was in a very precarious state, so he forced himself to lie still and breathe deep through the pain, and yet the idea of losing his child was more than he could bear, so that the tears began to fall already . . . wetting the pillow beneath him, as he tried to blink the tears away. He felt his hand being squeezed, as Bruce had yet to let go, and yet it wasn’t enough comfort. Peter smiled brokenly.

There was very little to hear but the sounds of machines beeping, as well as the breathing of his two companions, and he wondered how long it would be until someone told his aunt that he was okay, just as he wondered when he would be allowed to see her. He wanted to help set up the nursery, but he knew that he couldn’t move out of bed without Bruce’s permission, because he needed to make sure the baby had every chance possible. There was no way that he would put them at risk, not now and not ever again.

“Why did you hide it, Peter?” Bruce asked.

“I – I just didn’t want to face it,” admitted Peter. “I was scared. I thought -! I thought that the bleeding was a sign . . . I – I didn’t want to tell you, because what if you turned around and told me the baby was dead or gone -? I could – I could pretend that they were still alive and fine, just so long as I didn’t _know_ any differently, like it was all so _uncertain_ . . . thinking they’re in danger isn’t the same as _knowing_ it, Bruce! I didn’t think I could do anything about it, like it was either dead or alive, so I just – I just wanted to _hide_ from it!”

“You know that denial isn’t a river in Egypt,” said Tony.

“I know! I know, okay! I just – _shoot,_ that hurts!” Peter paused to draw in deep breaths, as he discovered adrenaline and stress were not good in his condition. “I was just dealing with so damned much. I don’t even know where to _begin_ , but I couldn’t deal with losing the child on top of it all, I just couldn’t –! My body changed, I had to decide whether to keep the child, I had to quit being Spider-Man, quit my job, move apartment, tell people . . .”

It was difficult to deal with, as all he could think about was how _devastating_ it would be to lose this child after everything he went through and all the sacrifices he made, especially now he knew that all the difficulty and suffering was _worth_ it for this child, because he _loved_ them. It wasn’t something he thought himself capable of feeling, but he did and now that he did the idea of losing them was enough to reduce him to an almost catatonic state, so that some nights he barely slept at all. It brought him to breaking point, so that he sought comfort in Wade’s arms, and it had been the first restful night he had in weeks.

“I would have told you eventually,” said Peter.

“It would have been better had you told us sooner,” Bruce replied.

“I – I know, but I’ve lost so many people! I lost my parents, my uncle, my girlfriend, my best friend, and my unborn child . . . I was spotting and I was feeling so ill . . . I was so _scared_ I would lose this one, too! Every time I saw the blood, I kept skipping ahead to the moment where you would look at me in silence and then say the words: ‘I’m sorry’. It was enough to that I couldn’t _sleep_ at night! I – I would have died with the child . . . I couldn’t face it.”

“You’re lucky. Your boy is stronger than we could imagine.”

“My – my boy? I’m having a boy?”

“You’re having a boy.”

Peter gave a nervous laugh. He looked to Bruce in confusion, as if the older man were playing some sort of joke, but he could see the smile on the other man’s lips, sincere and comforting as he looked kindly to Peter. It was so strange to hear that he would have a _son_ ; it somehow made the pregnancy all the more real, because now it wasn’t simply a generic life form but something _real_ . . . he could picture them more clearly, just as he could start to picture a future with them, and suddenly he realised that he was having a _son_. He was glad that he hadn’t chosen to abort, because he would never have known whether it was a boy or girl, _a son or daughter_ , and they would be a part of his family . . . _his child_.

It was hard to contain his burst of happiness, as he wanted to wrap his hands around his stomach and keep the child close to himself, closer than possible considering how they were _inside_ of him already, and he wanted them to be born . . . to hold them . . . to teach them everything he knew. He wondered which parent they would take after, who they would look like and who they would act like, and he wondered whether he could begin a new career and raise his son at the same time. There would be so much to share with them . . .

The other two men seemed to watch him, even as he cried to himself and laughed quietly, and – even as each burst of laughter hurt him just slightly – he never wanted to stop laughing, because the relief was just so immense. It was a surreal moment. He couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that a _life_ was growing inside of him . . . he hadn’t been born with this as a mutant ability, just as he hadn’t been born alien, and the spell wasn’t one he sought . . . but this was a miracle and a gift that he didn’t want to seem ungrateful, because this was something beyond special . . . beyond precious. He smiled and looked down to his stomach.

“Benjamin,” he whispered.

“You’re picking names?” Tony asked. “Try ‘Anthony’.”

“I – I was thinking . . . Benjamin Winston Parker.”

“No Parker-Wilson or Wilson?”

“Wade wouldn’t want that.”

The idea was nice in theory, but he knew that Wade had self-esteem so low that it was virtually non-existent, so that even Eleanor was rejected by him until very recently, as he believed himself incapable of giving life to something so beautiful. Peter still felt frightened that Wade would leave them the second he saw their son, too afraid of being responsible for such a life or ruining it with his presence, but . . . in a strange way . . . Peter didn’t care, because he _loved_ this child. He knew he could care for it and love it enough for both parents, and it was still possible that Wade had grown . . . that he would stay with them.

_‘What wouldn’t I want?’_

Peter jumped a little at the sudden voice, before he turned to see the person that spoke, and – over by the doors, over Tony’s shoulder – he could see Wade dressed as Spider-Man, but sans the mask that was tucked into a utility belt at his waist. Wade looked pale, as if he were afraid to be there in the room, but he also wore a bright smile and carried a duffel bag over his shoulder, which he clutched onto with his hand in a nervous manner. He walked over to the bed and lifted the bag up to hold it high in the air.

In a matter of seconds, Tony was on his feet. He approached Wade slowly and carefully, likely as he didn’t want to risk a confrontation with Peter in such a precarious state, as any tug or pull of a wire would put his life at risk, let alone another blow or jolt. Bruce squeezed Peter’s hand to reassure him, but it was hard to stay calm when he saw that Wade looked so _excited_ by everything . . . it was a bad sign . . . he knew how much his friend loved their child, so that any attack on Peter would have sent him into a dangerous and violent state, and that meant his ‘childlike happiness’ now was a dangerous front. He had done something or was planning to do something, and the Spider-Man outfit supported that.

“I got you a present, baby boy!”

“Whoa, I’ll take that, Wilson,” said Tony “My _killer sense_ is screaming.”

“Hey! I’m not a killer! I gave that up _volumes_ ago! Well, maybe a few trades ago, it was definitely more than a few issues at least! Look, I took off my mask when I did it! Everyone knows it wasn’t Spider-Man, but then everyone was all: ‘ _oh, Spider-Man must be dead, what a horrible impostor’!_ So I had to give a statement. I told them I stole the costume, but I’d give it back! Anyway, I did the city a favour! That bastard nearly killed my kid! What would you have done, Stark? You’re lucky I didn’t fucking torture the asshole!”

“Look, you’re _damned_ lucky I haven’t personally thrown you out, Wilson! The very last thing that Peter needs is stress right now, and you know – _you know_ – how he feels about killing _anyone_! If this thing contains what I think it does, I’m going to be using _your_ head for a bowling ball! Let’s see how long it takes to regenerate from that!”

“Aw, come on! Like Petey can make a decision as big as whether _to kill or not to kill_! You know, he _totally_ webbed up some underpants one day, then got his _pants_ stuck to his _butt_! It was pretty funny, but he made cookies and saved me some! I like cookies.”

“Look, you can’t just barge in here and -!”

“Tony, please?” Bruce asked.

Tony let out a hiss of air, before he snatched away the bag from Wade. He walked a few steps away and dropped the bag onto a table, which led out a sickeningly muffled thud, whilst Tony opened the corner of the bag just slightly. The expression he wore was one that made Peter’s stomach churn, as he realised – by that expression alone – just exactly what was inside the bag, and he felt sorry for Tony in those moments . . . the memories of his captivity for months, as well as the torture and the loss of his friend, likely flooded back.

It was then that Tony did the bag back up and alerted J.A.R.V.I.S. to call Coulson to collect the bag immediately, before he turned around to see Wade sitting in his previous spot. Wade reached out to touch Peter’s stomach, which was incredibly comforting and caused Peter to close his eyes briefly, as he felt his friend’s touch upon the taut skin and sore muscles. It was something that he wanted to do himself, as if the baby would somehow be able to sense the gesture, and so he appreciated Wade doing it for him, even as he realised that – from anyone else – he would have hated being touched without his permission. Still, this was Wade’s child too, and he didn’t need permission as far as Peter was concerned.

“Wade, Peter is in a _very_ weak state,” explained Bruce.

“So does he need more of my healing factor? I can cut all day!”

“He needs _rest_. This means no stress, no movements, and constant supervision. The baby should survive through this, but there is a _large_ risk of a premature birth, which will reduce its viability and chances of survival, depending on how many weeks into the pregnancy that Peter goes into labour. I’m going to give you a _very_ important job: keep Peter happy. You let me deal with his health, but _you_ make sure he doesn’t get stressed or depressed, okay?”

“Deal! I can totally do that! I already heard this joke about _head_ . . . get it, because -? Okay, so no Brad Pitt references, either? _What’s in the box?_ How old is that reference anyway? Still, that was such an awesome movie! Can Petey watch movies? I have _The Golden Girls_ on box set! Way awesome! Bea can cheer anyone up!”

“That – that’s fine. I’ll set up a portable television for you both.”

“So the baby is fine? I – I don’t want to –”

Peter smiled warmly. The words ‘lose him’ didn’t need to be spoken, as Peter felt the exact same fear and worries. He tried to raise his arm to touch his friend’s hand in reassurance, but he only managed to raise it a few inches before the strain in his shoulders caused him to drop it with a few exhausted pants, and – he realised – that he would probably take a long time to heal. It was possible that, as his body focussed so much on saving the baby, it was struggling to keep up with his other wounds. He reassured Wade verbally instead:

“He’s fine, Wade.”

The smile that Wade wore was so bright that it made Peter feel much better, as he could sense the absolute relief and excitement roll off him. The touch upon his stomach slowed down, whilst Wade looked away with eyed filled with unshed tears, and he leaned down to rest his head upon the stomach, although he kept his weight mostly off to protect Peter and their son, although he seemed content to listen to the strange sounds and just be close to the two of them. Peter wanted to run a hand over Wade’s head, but instead he squeezed Bruce’s hand and let out a staggered breath, as he felt better about his predicament.

“He? We’re having a boy?” Wade asked.

“Benjamin Winston Parker,” said Tony grumpily.

“Oh, after your uncle, right? Hey, my middle name is Winston, too! Awesome!”

It was difficult to tell whether Wade was being serious or purposely dense, but Peter decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter. He knew well that Wade was often assumed to be stupid or crazy by most people, although there was no denying his plans often seemed haphazard or nonsensical, but there was always a great amount of intricacy and forethought for the most part, and – whilst sometimes he was spontaneous or thoughtless – it was kinder to assume that he was feigning moments such as these, until proven otherwise.

“I was thinking of ‘May’ for a girl,” admitted Peter.

“Well, we can always name the next one ‘May’,” chirped Wade.

Peter laughed loudly and winced at the pain. Okay, _this_ time he definitely hoped that his friend was joking, because the idea that he could have led Wade on hurt him greatly, but there was something nice about thinking about the future together. He blushed a little and then shook his head sadly, as he knew that any children they had in the future wouldn’t be with each other, and yet he didn’t want to ruin the moment. He turned to look at Wade and asked him most sincerely a question that meant so much to him:

“Please, keep me company?”

“Baby boy, I’m not leaving your side. Not ever.”

Peter knew he meant it.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

# Chapter Thirteen

“Strange is on his way.”

Bruce spoke calmly, even as Peter breathed heavily. The pain wasn’t as intense as he expected, especially as there came periods of painless reprieve between each bout, but they both knew that this was _far_ too soon for labour to commence. Peter had lost track of what medicines and injections had been given to him, just as the wires in his arm and hand no longer made him feel queasy to look upon, and all he could think about was how his son decided _now_ would be a good time to make his first appearance.

_Thirty-three weeks . . ._

It was scary how often he heard the words ‘ninety-five percent chance of survival’, but they weren’t the comfort that those around him thought. Peter drew in a heavy breath. He rested his hands upon the lump of his stomach, now severely distended, and felt as his son gave a kick from inside, which caused him to hiss loudly and throw back his head. It was difficult to endure the contractions when – between each one – he could feel his son move and kick, which was something that no one told him to expect. He tried to adjust his position to sit up more, but the movement only disturbed his son and caused another kick.

The bedroom was well-lit and decorated with an array of ‘Captain America’ merchandise, as well as customised ‘Deadpool’ and ‘Spider-Man’ items, all as a gift from Tony Stark. Peter appreciated the older man’s attempts at making his stay in the tower more comfortable, especially when all his personal possessions were scattered between May’s home and Wade’s home, and yet he knew that he couldn’t stay there for the duration of the labour. He would need to go back down to the laboratory, where he would have to give birth.

“Do you know what to expect?”

“Aside from pain?” Peter asked. “I’m guessing hot water and towels? I’ve always wondered what people use all those towels for, because it can’t be blood . . . if there’s _that_ much blood, then this baby will just have to stay inside. I can carry around a twenty-five year old, right?”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that,” Bruce said kindly. “Loki has the same reproductive system, which means we have a lot of firsthand information from both Loki and the healers regarding what to expect. The breaking of your waters should wash away any faecal matter from your tract, whilst the lower part should ‘dilate’ much like in a female birth, but I think a caesarean will be safer than a natural birth. It will present a lot less risk and enable a safer delivery, in this case.”

“Strange is one of the world’s best surgeons, right?”

“He’ll be supervising, for obvious reasons.”

Peter nodded nervously. He looked to Bruce and wondered how the older man could be so strong and so calm, as the whole situation was just so _unnatural_ , and – even with a ninety-five percent chance – there was still a _five percent chance_ of his son’s death. It was far too high a statistic, with far too much at risk, and he was scared about what that could mean, because every death he experienced in his life was one that never left him . . . this would be one that he would _never_ forget. The scar itself would be a constant reminder.

It would be a pain unlike any other to lose his son now . . . he wondered whether he would get home to find the nursery dismantled, so as not to trigger his grief, so that he would be walking into an empty room filled with broken promises. He wondered whether – this time next year – he would swing through the city and see a father throw his one-year-old into the air, only to remember how he would never experience that. He wondered whether he would wake up in the dead of night, listening for a cry that would never come or the shout of ‘dad’ that he would never get to hear. _Five percent chance of death._ It wasn’t quite the flip of a coin, but it may as well have been. He blinked away nervous tears and looked to the window.

The light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, whilst the open door – opposite the bed – gave a perfect sight of the living-room beyond, where Wade had set up shop and made a rather impressive nest on the sofa. Wade respected Peter’s desire for space, just as he knew that he _needed_ space with his problematic pregnancy, but he refused to let Peter be unattended or out of eyesight, just in case of emergencies. Even when Wade was busy, such as with Ellie or working freelance for S.H.I.E.L.D., he would arrange for May or Bruce to sit with him, just in case something was needed, and – at the moment – Peter missed him.

“Will – will Wade be here in time?”

“He’s just reached your aunt’s house,” explained Bruce. “They’ll be here soon, depending on traffic, but they should be here for the important moment. Just remember that they won’t be allowed in the room with you . . . this is a premature birth, Peter. I hoped the tocolytics would prevent the labour from progressing, but the steroids have had some time to take effect and they should help, at the very least . . . still, I think your son can’t wait much longer.”

“I guess he takes after his other father,” Peter muttered. “Wade’s been asking me every day when I’ll give birth, even though I keep telling him that it’ll be a while. I guess the baby has made me a liar on that last part, huh? Couldn’t Wade have _called_ Aunt May?”

“You guys are getting pretty close, aren’t you?”

“W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

Peter winced as another contraction hit. They felt to be every fifteen minutes or so, but – with the pain being so intense and the moments between such a relief – it was hard to keep track of time, and Bruce learned long ago that ‘encouraging comments’ weren’t helpful. Tony had taken to rubbing Peter’s back for a while, until Peter threatened to web his hands together, and so the room was quickly emptied save for Bruce. He never thought himself to be the sort so easily angered, but the contractions _really_ hurt and the whole process . . .

“I just thought it may distract you a little,” said Bruce.

“Too bad I’m not getting my shots.”

Peter smiled weakly, as he thought back to the ‘distraction technique’ often used on him as a child, and luckily Bruce laughed back and looked to him kindly. The contractions lasted for what felt like half-a-minute or so, enough that he felt exhausted and broken by them, as his entire lower-stomach felt as if it were locked in a vice-like grip, to the point that he was sure muscles and organs were tearing. The strange part was that, once they finished, it was as if they never happened at all . . . so only his panting and sweating reminded him that they happened, and left him dreading the next one. He _really_ wanted the epidural.

“When can I get -?”

“You can have the gas and air now,” Bruce answered.

“N-not unless you want me to throw up,” muttered Peter. “Anyway, I think that one is over. I guess it’s called ‘labour’ for a reason . . . how long until I can get anything that actually works? I swear I must be fully dilated by now!”

“You’re not fully dilated until you reach ten centimetres. It’s still some way to go, and – believe me – you would _know_ were you anywhere near that point, because you wouldn’t just be wincing and groaning. It’s still too early for certain types of medicines, Peter, so you’ll just have to trust me on that, but . . . conversation _is_ a good form of distraction.”

“I – I can’t talk about that, Bruce! Not now, anyway! I – we – yes . . . we’re closer than we once were, but we’re _not_ a couple . . . not like that. I – it’s just nice to have him around, _as a friend_ , you know? I told him people might misinterpret it, if he got too close, but when I asked him to leave . . . he started watching me from outside the window, instead. It’s comforting to know he’s always there, but at the same time . . . I’m scared I may have led him on, but I’m scared of what that _means_ , too, because – because I –”

Bruce smiled sadly. It was odd to see him look so dejected at such a moment, as if there was something he could see that Peter couldn’t, and – to see him look down with a half-bowed back, face filled with uncertainty – he wished that his friend would break free from his role as the ‘unbiased mentor’ and just speak his mind. Peter rubbed at his stomach and gazed to the window, where he saw their reflections superimposed upon the cityscape . . .

“You want something more,” said Bruce.

There could be no harder statement to process, not least when he wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted, and – when he thought about what something more could mean – he felt himself filled with absolute confusion and concern. The fact was that he could _trust_ Wade to do what was right, but he couldn’t trust _what_ Wade’s idea of ‘right’ could be or _what_ Wade would be willing to do to get there, and he questioned whether he could live his life with that level of unpredictability and unreliability. He wondered whether simple affection could trump such practicalities, or whether those practicalities would be what drove them apart, because – if it didn’t work on a fundamental level – how else would it survive?

It was easy to picture them moving in together, perhaps looking after Ellie full time, and he could even picture another child in the distant future . . . he could picture his future girl raiding his storage to ‘borrow’ his costume, maybe his son growing to create his own identity as a hero, or – better than any superhero persona – a simple family home, with games and laughter and love. Still, Wade didn’t seem that type of person. What if Wade got bored? What if Wade romanticised it too much and grew disillusioned?

“I don’t know,” Peter whispered.

The only way to know if a relationship _could_ work would be to _try_ it first, but that meant considering whether he could be _attracted_ to Wade. They worked well as friends, true, but what as something more? Wade had a tendency to idealise his partners, to the extent that when the illusion shattered he often shattered with it, whilst his other partners had been brought about with little thought and with virtual strangers . . . was Wade capable of more? The better question, Peter thought, was whether he _cared_ if Wade was capable of more. He wondered whether he could be with a man, especially in the face of a homophobic society.

“Am – am I gay?”

“Only you can answer that, Peter,” said Bruce. “In my experience . . . sexuality is rather fluid, but it’s also something that sometimes people take for granted. We don’t tend to examine ourselves all too deeply, not unless we’re made to in some way or we come across something that just _clicks_ , that explains everything we never thought needed explaining. All I can say is whatever you identify as – whatever you think you may be – it _doesn’t_ invalidate anything you had with Gwen or Mary Jane. Love is . . . _love_.”

“I – I just -! How can I love Wade like that? I couldn’t _stand_ him when we first met, and then it was torture to even admit something close to friendship, and now we’re close – yeah – but how can I reconcile that with the fact I’ve _never_ felt anything close to sexual for a man until now? It – it redefines my entire life, but what if it’s just a phase, too? I – I can’t lead Wade on when I’m just . . . _confused_! I don’t know, Bruce.”

“Do you know how often you flirt with men, Peter? I know you pass it off as a joke, but there are times . . . well . . . you’re either very secure in your sexuality or you’re feeling something a little more than you’re willing to admit. You _do_ joke a lot to hide your feelings, maybe this is something you’re hiding . . . even from yourself?”

“I – I didn’t mean it with any of those men! I – I guess I teased about Iron Fist to Luke, and – er – there was the offer to – to – to . . . _toss_ Daredevil, and – ah – those weren’t meant to be serious, you know? It was just me running my mouth. . .”

“Do you mean it with Wade?”

“I – I don’t know.”

Bruce gave a little snort of breath, as if he unsuccessfully stifled a laugh, before he turned around with a sincere smile and shook his head. There was a familiar tensing in Peter’s stomach, as if another contraction was preparing to strike, and – when he looked to Bruce – the other man came to sit on the edge of the bed and held his hand. A part of him wondered how Bruce could be so insightful, seeing even what Peter couldn’t, but maybe it was because Bruce held a secret identity of his own . . . forced to reconcile two beings, two _lives_ into one . . . Bruce knew what it meant to repress a part of himself.

“There’s your answer.”

Peter sighed and threw his head back, as he used his free hand to stroke his stomach. It wouldn’t be long until his son – _Benjamin_ – came into this world, and Peter could only pray that his son would get to _see_ this world, because if he lost him . . . a contraction hit . . . Peter opened his mouth to let out a groan, only to choke on saliva and air, as he clenched Bruce’s hand tight. A part of him was scared of hurting Bruce, but eventually the pain passed and left Peter breathlessly trying to fill his lungs, as his head lolled from side to side.

“We – er – also . . . slept together.”

“I’m -?” Bruce paused to let out a hiss of breath. “You did _what_?”

“I – I was upset and angry and scared! I just got so _frustrated_ and I needed an outlet, and the baby had been messing with my hormones and I had no one to turn to, and I _just_ wanted some contact . . . some affection . . . I wanted to forget and I wanted to feel _wanted_. It was like a wave of lust and need and -! I – I turned to Wade, okay? He understood how I felt, plus it was his baby anyway, and it would have been too much a betrayal to go to anyone else –”

“‘Too much a betrayal’? Peter, you _weren’t_ a couple! It wouldn’t have been a betrayal to go to anyone else for just one night . . . not if you made it clear it was just sex! Wade has _feelings_ for you. Did you not think this might be leading him on? Is it any wonder he thinks there’s something more? Peter, this isn’t –”

“I _told_ Wade it was just a one-time thing! I told him over and over! I figured it would be fine, you know? I used him, but he was using me, too. It – it confused things . . . yeah . . . I just didn’t think it would confuse things _this_ much. I didn’t expect to . . . like it.”

“Only you could get pregnant, have sex, and _then_ start a relationship.”

“I guess my behaviour was out of order.”

“In so many ways.”

Peter laughed sadly, before he rubbed at his eyes. It was strange to think that he had been crying without realising it, but each contraction had been more difficult than the last, to the point that he was no longer sure exactly what he said or did during each one. The sweat on his forehead was falling into his eyes, which made them sting painfully with the salt of each drop, and he couldn’t help but to bite his lip as another contraction hit. He tasted blood. It was too painful and he hated the thought that it would get _worse_ than this, too.

He clutched hard onto Bruce’s hand. There was the sound of J.A.R.V.I.S. alerting Bruce that Strange was waiting, just as he heard a brief mention of Wade’s name, but Peter felt dizzy and the pain was so intense . . . a moment later and everything felt wrong. The sheets became soaked wet, so that – when he looked down – he wondered for a horrible moment whether he had urinated during the pain, but the liquid looked clear and somehow with flecks of red and brown, so that it seemed unnatural. He hated how warm it felt. He hated how it looked. Peter began to hyperventilate, even as Bruce tried to calm him down and shouted for Steve to enter the room, and Peter realised that he could hear the sound of the brakes on the bed being unlocked. They were planning to wheel him away, which meant that this was time.

There was a moment of panic, as Peter tried to lift himself up from the bed, only for Steve to appear with a firm hand to keep him in place. Peter glanced around to see Tony and Bruce appearing to argue by the open door, as Pepper made to walk in and was stopped by one of them, and – as he tried to focus his eyes – he realised that he was starting to see double, so that two of every face stared back at him. He felt hot. It burned his skin and when Steve touched him, tentatively and with an unsure touch, it felt so cool and refreshing to his skin that he wanted to cry all over again. He barely noticed when Bruce reappeared.

“Okay, time to get you down to the lab,” said Bruce.

Peter tried to nod, but the sudden movement cause him to retch. There was a paper bowl put before him, where he heard the splash of liquid and felt his throat contract, and suddenly the burning and acrid taste made him reel back and gasp for breath. The bed began to move, as it was wheeled over to the elevator, and Peter mentally swore never to go through this again, as he let a weak hand fall upon his stomach . . . _ninety-five percent chance . . ._ he prayed his baby had better luck than he did, even as the elevator doors closed behind them.

“What happens now?” Peter asked.

“Now? Now we say hello to your son.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

# Chapter Fourteen

“How is he, Doc?”

Bruce looked up in confusion.

The sight of a room filled with people was – truth be told – a little disconcerting. He disliked the feeling of having all eyes upon him, as well as being the centre of attention, and he felt his heart speed a little and forced himself to count the beats. _One, two, three . . ._ it was important to remain calm and not to allow his fear to overcome him, especially when these were people that _relied_ upon him and _needed_ to be reassured about Peter . . . about the baby. It wouldn’t do to let himself give into stage fright at a time like this.

Wade stood centre of the room, dressed casually in loose jeans and a hooded sweater, which was cast in such a deep hue of red that it made Bruce feel a little nauseous . . . _‘it can’t be for all that blood’ . . ._ the broken promises made to Peter came back to haunt him, as well as the sight of the operation and the blood that left the younger man unconscious, until Bruce became afraid that it wouldn’t be the baby they lost . . . it would be Peter. Bruce reached up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, where he wiped away the sweat underneath the plastic and tried to massage out the indents, but all he could see was _red_. It would be all that Wade would see, too, if he didn’t speak carefully.

“Is everything okay, Dr Banner?” May asked.

“Well, both father and son are stable,” he said. “That’s the main thing.”

He lowered his hand and looked around the room. There was a large balloon next to Wade that said ‘congratulations’ and appeared tied to his wrist, whilst in his left hand there was a large carrier-bag with a strange smell from inside. It was clear that there was an impromptu shopping spree involved, although the few gift-wrapped items suggested forethought, and yet the flowers and tacos in the bag showed the spontaneity well. There was something almost sweet about seeing the ‘merc with the mouth’ as the impatient father.

Pepper sat on a bench against the wall, where she was dressed in a pristine suit and with hair perfect in style, and – clearly – she had been pulled out of a very important meeting to wait for news about the emergency caesarean, although she likely would have rushed over without any prompting from those around her. Preston stood on the opposite side – to the left as Bruce looked directly upon them – where he noticed the absence of Ellie, who was likely left home until they _knew_ the baby and Peter would be okay, as it wouldn’t do for a child to be around grieving adults in a clinical setting. He felt relief that he didn’t have to explain any of this to a child of her age, as he wasn’t sure he was strong enough for that.

There was – finally – May Parker standing just beside Pepper, who looked so filled with concern and love that Bruce could barely look upon her, as he felt a wave of guilt and shame that he couldn’t do _more_ for Peter. This was a woman that had lost so much, that lived for her nephew, to the extent that he was like a _son_ to her, and the very fear of losing him was enough to paint her face beyond her years, so the lines appeared deeper and her eyes lost something of their lustre. Bruce never knew what it meant to have a child, as much as he yearned for one, but he could envision the depths of the terror she felt.

“You said they’re stable?” May asked.

“No, he said that’s the ‘main thing’,” snapped Wade. “I call bullshit! If that’s the best news he can give, that they’re ‘stable’, then it means there’s something else going on that he’s trying to sugarcoat! Well, sugar-coated bullshit is still bullshit!”

“You’re right, Wade,” said Bruce. “There is something else, but you need to remain _calm_. Peter lost a lot of blood and his body was dealing with a high-risk pregnancy, complete with complications, and – not to mention – the premature labour. It will be a long recovery. The baby has _your_ healing factor, but Peter _doesn’t_. The slithers of flesh you fed him to help prevent miscarriage during his attack – as well as how the spell heightened his ability to heal due to the change in his physiology – _should_ help immensely, but he’s lucky to be alive.”

Wade suddenly seemed to drop. It wasn’t completely, but it was noticeable, so that his head fell forward and his arms hung limply by his sides. The bag filled with gifts looked infinitely heavy in that moment, whilst the sores and cuts on Wade’s face were smoothed out by the absence of his smile, and he looked at the floor in an almost saddened manner, as if the thought of Peter in pain actually pained him in turn. It made sense to Bruce, as Peter was Wade’s hero; he willingly shot himself on Peter’s request, allowed Peter to beat him out of refusal to hurt him, and _idolised_ Peter to the point of owning all Spider-Man merchandise.

It was made worse by the way that their relationship had evolved beyond essential abuse and bickering, but Wade didn’t let his worry break him and Bruce admired him for that. May came behind him and placed a hand upon his back, which caused Wade to visibly tense, as if he were afraid of being touched or afraid of contaminating the older woman, and it was impossible not to feel some sadness for him in that moment. Bruce wanted to reach out in turn, but he knew better than to act so presumptively.

“He’s going to live, right?”

“He _should_ live,” said Bruce carefully. “He _will_ keep a permanent scar from where we had to make the cut, but otherwise he should be fine within a few days. Peter should also be able to safely carry and bear any other children in future, too, if that becomes a factor.”

“What about the baby?” Preston asked. “Is the baby okay?”

“Benjamin Winston Parker is perfectly fine.”

There was a collective sigh from the room, whilst Wade visibly perked up just slightly, and the bag and balloon were lifted just a little higher from it, as the smile crept back upon Wade’s expression. It was still only half-as-bright as the smile from before, which showed that his love for Peter overrode any other feelings he may have, and – as such – he seemed to struggle to hide his worry. Preston looked somewhat sheepish across the room, but likely as being in his mind for so long had left her privy to Wade’s deepest fears. Preston likely knew what he felt and what they would mean. It left Bruce a little worried.

“There is something else,” said Bruce.

He could almost feel the tension return. It was enough to make him feel nervous about the response, as well as guilty that he could be the one to cause such tension, and he drew in a shuddered breath to try and centre himself, as he began to silently count in his mind. Pepper was at once on her feet and standing off to the side, whilst May placed a hand upon Wade’s arm and squeezed for emotional support, and Preston looked sadly to the floor as she likely knew what to expect. Bruce bit the inside of his lip, as he hoped to ground himself.

“The baby is a mutant,” he said.

“So?” Wade snapped. “What’s wrong with being a mutant?”

“Wade,” explained Preston, “you can’t be so flippant. There _isn’t_ anything wrong with being a mutant . . . _I_ know that, _you_ know that . . . the sad fact is that the world _doesn’t_ know that. It will be hard enough to deal with a son that’s different, but the discrimination he’ll face –?”

“It’s difficult to say the extent of his powers, yet,” said Bruce. “I can say for certainty that he will have Peter’s ability to bear young, just as he has a healing factor to put yours to shame, but it’s difficult to say whether he’ll have any other powers. Strange ran some tests, which _may_ indicate organic web-shooters, but it’s not certain at this stage, but _physically_ he’s a lot healthier than we expected. He’s small, but strong. Would you . . .?”

“Want to see him? I’m sure Wade would love to, wouldn’t you, Wade?”

“I want to see Peter,” said Wade. “When can I see him?”

“Not yet,” replied Bruce. “He’s still sleeping.”

Wade pulled a face that contorted into a grimace, so that the pain returned and Bruce was left to feel guilty at the expression. It was difficult to remain impartial and hold himself in check, especially when he could _see_ how much Wade needed Peter, and yet he knew that he couldn’t let anyone in whilst the younger man was in such a state. He hated himself for stopping Wade entering, even as he reminded himself that _no one_ stopped Wade from doing anything that he wanted, so he obviously felt that he needed to respect Bruce’s decision on some level.

The other man pulled away from May almost aggressively, before he walked away and threw himself back against the wall, where he let himself slide down into a crouched position. It was clear that Wade was worried, as they all were, and he could see May’s paled face and Pepper’s teary eyes, and yet he _couldn’t_ bend the rules just because Wade looked so miserable, especially when it could be potentially upsetting to Wade to see his friend – _lover_ – in such a state. It was enough to cause Bruce to feel a headache. He couldn’t forget how close the two men were, as well as the fact that Wade experienced far worse than a few wires in his lifetime, and they did love each other . . . he tried to think about what was best.

“If you can keep quiet,” muttered Bruce, “I can bend the rules a little.”

“Really? Awesome! I have the best gifts ever for Petey!” Wade smiled brightly. “I brought tacos and hotdogs, because he has to be really hungry! There’s flowers, too, because you’re supposed to bring flowers, right? I cut them myself straight from the park, and -!”

“ _Quiet, Wade_. Peter is in a really bad way. He needs _rest_.”

“Okay, I can do that! I promise!”

Bruce frowned as Wade jumped to his feet. He was bouncing on his heels like a toddler, whilst May raised a hand to her mouth and bit on her knuckle nervously, and it was impossible to miss the sheer _need_ to see Peter from them both. The look that Wade wore was uncontained joy, as if everything that he wanted and needed was being given to him in that singular moment, and Bruce saw in him the infinite love and respect for Peter . . . it wasn’t just Spider-Man he appreciated, but Peter himself. Bruce smiled despite himself.

“Okay, just you and May,” said Bruce.

He turned back to the doors behind him, before he gave a respectful nod and smile towards Pepper and Preston. They would understand the need for only a few people at a time, especially when both had experienced miscarriages and births between them, and there would be plenty of time for everyone else to descend upon Peter later. Bruce knew well that Tony would be one of the first to visit, likely with enough toys and gifts to fill an entire house, and Peter already admitted that he planned to donate the excess to charity, given that the nursery already had all that it needed and was too small for such a large bounty.

The door closed quietly behind them, as they entered, and he led the way carefully through the laboratory towards Peter and Benjamin. Peter rested on his back upon a bed not too far away, where Strange sat at just enough distance to keep him in eyesight, and yet he looked so pale and so broken that Bruce felt a stab in his chest. It was awful to see a boy so strong – so desperate to help others, to do good, to be responsible – reduced to being so exhausted and so dangerously ill, and he couldn’t begrudge May for going straight to his side.

It was a moment later where he saw her sitting gently in the chair next to him, where she brushed his soaked hair from his face, and gently used some ice water on the side to mop his brow, and Peter gave a soft sigh in his sleep. May was careful to be wary of the wires in Peter’s arm and hand, just as she tried to ignore the beeping of the monitors, but – the one thing she couldn’t ignore – was the small incubator to the right side of Peter, where Wade walked up to nervously and looked inside, although he cast many glances to Peter. The two of them seemed unsure which to attend: Peter or Benjamin. Wade rubbed at his eyes, as if wiping away tears, and Bruce looked awkwardly away to avoid embarrassing him.

“Is that my boy?” Wade whispered.

“He’s your boy, alright. Say hello to Benjamin.”

Wade looked briefly to Peter, as if searching for permission to greet his son, but the younger man only stirred slightly with the quiet murmurings of Wade and soft touches of his aunt, and it was left to May to silently nod to Wade to look properly. It took only Wade a moment to look, before he smiled brighter than Bruce could ever imagine, and – in a touching moment – he reached out to touch a finger to the plastic, where the small baby moved his hand almost instinctively to touch lightly from the other side.

The baby looked so small, that Bruce still couldn’t believe how lucky Benjamin was not to need the care that most premature babies usually required, but he was even able to breathe unassisted and the supervision was merely a precaution at this point. There were a few tufts of brown hair, very much the exact shade of Peter’s, but with eyes such a dark brown that they could belong only to Wade, unlike the blue of the one that bore him. He was surprisingly pink in skin tone, which made it difficult to tell which parent he may take after more, but – with his face surprisingly strong like Wade’s – Bruce felt he had an idea.

“He has your eyes, too,” said Bruce. “You’ll see when he wakes up.”

“It’s weird how much he looks like the both of us,” Wade muttered. “I kind of expected him to look just like Petey, but he’s got my facial structure, like all sharp and square and stuff. Do – do you think I could hold him? I never got to hold Ellie . . . not properly like this.”

“Not right now. I’m sorry. I really want Benjamin to rest there for a while; the incubator is just to regulate his body temperature, as well as to feed him fluids for a while, and everything else that you see is just to monitor his vitals. He’s doing amazingly, Wade, so it’s possible that you can hold him in a few days, but . . . you can touch him. Ah, this door on the side opens up – see? – so you can hold his hand or stroke his cheeks.”

Wade looked whiter than Bruce could remember seeing, so that Bruce slowly began to see a touch of fear in his expression, and – with a startling revelation and absolute guilt – he remembered Wade’s phobia of medical treatment and doctors, just as he remembered that Wade spent a good portion of his life _tortured_ by those doctors sworn to help him. Bruce wished that he had prepped the ex-mercenary better, or perhaps hidden the wires better or even made Wade wait to see them. He did the best that he could to reassure Wade:

“I promise, it’s just a precaution.”

“I – I know Petey wouldn’t mind all those wires and things,” muttered Wade. “Benji, though, he can’t talk for himself! If he’s in any pain whatsoever, I swear I’ll put enough blades in the Hulk to make even him look red! I _know_ how those things hurt! I know! I –”

“I swear to you – _to both you and May_ – that Benjamin isn’t in any pain at all. These wires and tubes are all just a precaution, but I _promise_ we’ll remove them the very second that we’re sure he’s okay without them. If it makes you feel better, you can stay by his side for as long as you want . . . you can supervise everything we do, to make sure he’s safe.”

“Good! I ain’t going to leave him, not ever. I – I messed up with Ellie, but I’m doing right by her now, but I don’t want to do wrong by Benji at all . . . there ain’t many people that think I can be a good guy, especially when they see me for _me_ . . . Petey knows me better than I know myself, and he’s even called me out on it a few times, but he thinks I can be a good guy! He thinks I can be better, and I – I want to be! I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Bruce gave a sad smile and looked to May, who wore a similar expression to what he felt, and he realised how difficult Wade’s life had been, just as much as he realised how much the other man loved his son unconditionally. There were already a series of fingerprints on the plastic wall of the incubator, as Wade tried to follow his son’s tiny movements, and he wore such a loving and patient expression that it was difficult to believe this was the same man that caused havoc for S.H.I.E.L.D. and broke so many laws. Eventually, Wade pressed his forehead against the incubator and appeared almost teary-eyed.

“If I touch him,” asked Wade, “will it hurt him? There aren’t many people that can look at my ugly mug, let alone bear a touch from me. My hands are all scaly today and I think I have a few open cuts, plus what if a bit flakes away or I accidentally scratch him or –”

“You both have the same healing factor. Infection won’t be an issue.”

 _‘He – he’s right,’_ said a voice.

Wade jumped at the voice. The three of them turned at once to look to the bed, where Peter slowly blinked open his eyes, and – despite the black bags and bloodshot whites – he wore a tired and broken smile. Bruce quickly let his eyes cast over the machines to check his vitals, whilst Wade slipped into the chair on the opposite side of May, where he gently reached out to touch his friend’s hand, although he carefully avoided touching the wires, and Bruce – with a sigh – carefully angled the incubator so that Wade could see both the child and the father of his child. If he wanted, he could touch his son and hold Peter’s hand at once, especially by the way he changed his chair to face Peter directly.

It took a few seconds for Bruce to make sure the incubator was positioned safely, as well as to take Peter’s pulse and a few notes, but it was worth it to allow them a moment of uninterrupted intimacy. May continued to lightly mop his brow, whilst Wade fought away tears and stroked the back of his hand with his thumb, and from inside the incubator the baby stirred, as if he could hear and recognise Peter’s voice. The little movements were subtle, but not so subtle for Wade to miss. The mercenary’s head immediately turned to observe.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, whilst Peter found the strength to draw in a few deep breaths and turned his head to look at the incubator. It was clear his eyes were unfocussed, as well as the incubator slightly too high compared to the bed, and he probably saw no more than the reflection of light from the plastic. Wade drew in a breath of his own and gave a beaming smile, enough to reassure Peter, and squeezed a little on his hand, whilst Bruce walked carefully to Strange to hand him the notes, yet never once taking his eyes off the patient in question or his two visitors. Wade spoke in a deep and scratchy voice:

“Petey? Hey, how are you?”

“I – I feel . . . I feel tired. Can you – can you hold – can you hold Benjamin’s hand? I – I want to touch him, but I feel so tired. I want – I want him to – to know that we’re here, t-that he has his parents close by. H-how – how is he?”

Wade beamed brightly and reached inside the incubator. He brushed against Benjamin’s cheek, which Bruce knew to be softer than anything imaginable, and then let his finger rest against his son’s fist, even though he couldn’t quite yet grasp around his finger. The baby chose that moment to open his mouth wide for a silent yawn, which caused Wade to burst out into laughter and gently stroke the back of his hand, much like how he strove to do with Peter’s, although without the wires obstructing his touch.

“He has such soft skin, Petey,” said Wade.

“I – I only saw him for a moment,” whispered Peter. “He’s so small.”

“He’ll get bigger, Peter,” said May. “You were small yourself, but look how big you got! It won’t be long before he’ll be as tall as Wade, then you’ll have someone else calling you ‘pocket-sized’ and teasing you for your height. He’s beautiful, Peter, honestly.”

“I – I was – I was so scared he was going to die.”

“He’s healthy and happy, I promise.”

Peter nuzzled into his pillow and smiled sleepily, before he closed his eyes and whispered his son’s name in a clumsy manner, with each syllable crashing into the next in an almost indecipherable sound. May pulled herself up into a half-crouch to place a kiss on his cheek, before she pulled the covers up to just below his collarbone, where Peter let out a contented sound and murmured a ‘thank you’, and Wade laughed again and found his eyes darting back and forth, unsure which person to give his attention.

It was clear that Peter would need some more time before he would be up for visitors, which meant that Bruce would have to deal with an over-zealous Tony desperately trying to sneak in to see the boy like a son to him. Bruce busied himself instead with the bag that Wade dropped upon the floor near the bed, as he realised the balloon on his wrist now floated somewhere near the window and banged irritatingly on the pane, and yet he couldn’t blame Wade for shunning everything to be close to his family. Bruce placed the flowers in a vase, the food on a tray, and then began to sort the gifts. It was then he heard:

“Petey? You okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Sleepy.”

“Okay, but before you sleep, I got to say something!” Wade blushed and looked to Benjamin. “I messed up not being there for Ellie, but I wasn’t a real man back then, although I’m still kind of not . . . like, I _am_ a man, because – you know – penis and all, but you know what I mean -! Anyway, it’s like – it’s like I’m still scared, because Benji is so beautiful and such a miracle and I – I don’t want to screw up! I want to do right, but what if I _do_ screw up?

“I can’t promise I won’t always remember not to kill the bad guys, just as I can’t promise not to curse or shout or runaway from time to time, but I _promise_ I’m going to be a super-awesome father to Ellie and Benji! I don’t want to make the same mistakes! I want to be the kind of dad that you can be proud to say is your kid’s dad! We’ll be a great family, I promise! I’ve bought loads and loads of books about babies, so I’ll be all up-to-date and I’m being real careful about what jobs I take on . . . I know we’re not a couple, not really, but we can be a family, can’t we? I swear that I’ll be good. I’ll do my very best.”

“I believe you . . . love you . . . Wade.”

“Still goofy on the meds?”

Peter was already asleep. It was nice to see him so peaceful and at rest, as well as the vitals strong and steady, but it made Bruce’s heart ache a little to see Wade and May so desperate to speak to him, so worried about his well-being, only made to wait a little longer. He tried not to think about Pepper and Preston outside, as well as all of Peter’s friends that would want to visit him and hold the baby, and instead he focussed on the present. Wade heard a confession of love and was ready to dismiss it, even though Bruce knew that Peter _meant_ it.

“He just needs his rest,” whispered Bruce.

There was a sad smile from Wade, as he stroked Benjamin’s cheek. It was a second later where he pulled away to place a soft kiss on top of the incubator, as if the young babe could somehow sense the sentiment, before he turned to brush a hand through Peter’s hair and placed a kiss on his friend’s forehead. May looked away a little in embarrassment, before she reached across to gently hold Wade’s arm to reassure him. Bruce smiled at them both.

“He really does care about you,” said May.

“I think I love him,” Wade replied.

May smiled kindly.

 

 


	15. Epilogue

# Epilogue

“Whoa! Little _jumpy_ today, huh?”

Peter dodged the incoming kick. It came straight at his head in a predictable manner, but – with his heightened senses and spider-sense to danger – the move seemed as slow as always, so that he wondered how the other superheroes struggled with such lightweight villains. It was all he could do to keep from getting bored, but a few quips were enough to keep his interest in the fight. True, Ava’s complaints about his conduct helped, but he couldn’t rely on teasing his colleague to get him through the battle without boredom.

It was then that Batroc began with a barrage of punches and kicks, each one aimed at a vital spot that _really_ would have hurt had they connected, but Peter kept his movements smooth and graceful, as he dodged each one. _A punch to the heart_? A step back. _A kick to the groin?_ A jump onto the wall. Actually, the wall proved a good vantage point, because it proved more difficult for Batroc to get access to him, and – well – crawling around like a spider and singing ‘Incy-Wincy’ seemed to _really_ rile the old guy up. Sam could tease all he wanted about how Peter ought to play househusband, but nothing proved as good an adrenaline rush as helping the city by taking out one criminal at a time.

“ _Hop_ along now, Batroc,” said Peter. “It’s not _leap_ -year yet.”

“Is that the best you’ve got, Spider-Man? Puns and quips and webs?”

“Well, I _am_ the Spider-Man. If I just called myself ‘the Man’, well, those webs would probably mean a whole lot of something else! I mean, a guy shooting lots of white and sticky ropes? Call me picky, but _I’d_ rather be the one doing the puns than being punned! So yeah, webs it is! Say, is ‘punned’ a real word? It doesn’t sound like a real word. You’re French, right? Do the French have a word for ‘punned’ or -?”

Batroc chose that moment to leap high, which was enough to set off Peter’s spider-sense and caused him to jump from his spot on the wall, where he landed on the roof and rolled into a crouched position. The costume clung to him in a way that was far from comfortable, especially when the baby-weight had yet to fully shake off, and – not to mention – the cup was starting to chafe, although he daren’t go without due to Wade’s constant staring and comments on parts that felt less private with him around. Peter wondered whether he had time to discreetly adjust himself, before Batroc jumped again.

There was a moment where Peter simply watched as Batroc almost glided through the air, before he wondered where Ava had gotten to and whether he ought to find her, but the beeping of his communication device distracted him. Peter dove across to his right, before he swung across to the next roof and hit the button to hang-up the device, before he spotted Batroc headed right for him once more. Peter swallowed hard, as he fought away the nervousness that came with every fight, before he prepared to web up the perpetrator.

It was then Ava appeared. She took him out mid-jump, with a swift kick that used both legs and connected to his waist, and he tumbled to the roof where Peter stood with a painful looking collapse. Batroc began to try and crawl to all fours, before he spluttered and coughed and looked about sheepishly, but Ava was quick and ruthless, so that one more kick to the face left the man a groaning mess and lying prostrate upon the roof. Peter adjusted his mask and walked over to the pair. He noticed how Ava kept her foot on the small of Batroc’s back, which prevented him from getting up and moving around, and the guy looked barely a threat at all when subdued so easily by _the_ White Tiger. Unfortunately, he sensed she was annoyed.

“Come on, Spidey,” Ava snapped. “It took you _this_ long to get him?”

“What can I say? He’s Batroc the _Leaper_ , not Batroc the Sedentary Sloth!”

He just knew that Ava rolled her eyes behind her mask. It was as obvious as was the glare he wore behind his, even if neither could see the other’s expression, and yet he could understand her frustration when the two of them were caught dealing with D-list villains. Bruce would always argue that an increase of the D-list meant an absence of the A-list, which was true, but Peter couldn’t help resent the fact that he was caught in the freezing cold wind with only a layer of spandex between him and the elements. It was cold, just as the roof was slippery with ice, and he wondered whether Ava felt the weather as he did.

It was then that he heard a groan from Batroc, as the man struggled to sit up, but – as they both knew – to give him room to sit would be to give him room to escape, and . . . well . . . Peter was not in a mood to chase after someone. No one warned him that ‘baby’s first tooth’ also meant ‘father never sleeps’, and he was _sure_ that there was some spit-up on the shoulder of his costume, despite being so careful storing the damn thing. Batroc tried to roll over and speak to them both, but he barely let out a few words:

“You know I’ll just –”

“Hush, you!”

Peter shot a piece of web over his mouth. He lowered his head enough to make sure that Batroc could breathe, before he sighed and pulled back to run a hand over his face, and tried to ignore what he was sure was a growl from Ava. The communication device began to beep again in a rather annoying manner, and – after a certain point – he realised that the tone had been changed from the default to an _extremely_ inappropriate pop-song, which made him pray that it wouldn’t go off anywhere near Fury or Coulson.

“You going to get that?” Ava asked.

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” muttered Peter.

He looked to the screen and saw the name ‘Deadpool’ flash upon it. The picture that was there had been changed along with the generic ring-tone, which appeared to be a picture of something that – whilst not quite obscene – was inappropriate for a work device. There was a part of Peter that dreaded answering, but this was his first few weeks back in the role of Spider-Man, and a terrible part of him felt a sense of dread that something bad could have happened to Benjamin, even as he realised that it was irrational to think it.

“Yo, Spidey speaking,” he said.

_‘Hey, are you heading home soon, sweetums?’_

“Er, no?” Peter webbed Batroc to the floor and walked away with Ava for privacy. “Listen, did you change my ring-tone to ‘Baby Got Back’? I _really_ can’t have offensive rap on my _work_ device, Wade. How do I change it back?”

_‘That’s not Sir Mixalot! That’s ‘Anaconda’! Nikki is awesome!’_

“Whatever, Wade! Why are you calling?”

_‘Preston’s busy. Al won’t help.’_

Peter looked to Ava, but she only leaned against the all and shrugged. Batroc struggled across the other side of the roof, even as the webbing prevented him from moving about, and it wouldn’t be long before reinforcements from S.H.I.E.L.D. came to take him. It was difficult to remain calm, even with everything under control, because he couldn’t help but wonder _what_ it was that Wade would need help concerning, especially when he should have been home with Benjamin. Peter mentally ran through Benjamin’s routine and then checked the time on the device . . . it should have been bath-time . . . did he drown or fall or -?

“Hey, Wade?” Ava asked.

_‘Tiger! If you’ve changed your mind about a date, I’m a taken man now!’_

“What? No way, dude! Look, Spidey’s about to lose his mind with worry here. I think you’ve got him five-seconds away from swinging through the city to get to you, so you want to tell us why you’re calling? Did Benjamin chip a tooth?”

 _‘Ha! I wish! I tried calling May, but the broad just_ laughed _at me until I hung up! I – I can still taste it, Spidey! I tried washing my mouth out with whiskey, but Al said I can’t drink with a baby around, but I said I can’t get drunk, but she said that wasn’t the point! I went to wash it out with bleach, but – dude – the taste is still there! It’s awful! I – I’m going to be scarred for life, Spidey! You got to come back so I can drink gasoline ‘til my stomach explodes!’_

“Benjamin’s only six-months, Wade,” muttered Peter. “You _said_ you could deal with him, so I _left_ him with you. Preston’s husband is right across the street in an emergency, and – well – if May won’t answer you on the phone then it can’t be too important . . . do I need to come home? I mean, can’t Bruce help you with whatever -?”

_‘No! You’re the one that said watching him alone wasn’t any different to watching him with you, but it’s way different! Ellie went to bed totally fine! Ellie’s good! Ellie didn’t freaking poop in my mouth! Seriously, it’s the worst and most gross –’_

“Wait. What? Benjamin did . . . what?”

_‘Pooped in my mouth!’_

Ava burst out into unrestrained laughter. It was a little mean when Wade sounded genuinely distressed, but – at the same time – he couldn’t help but feel his lip quirk in amusement himself, _especially_ when Wade laughed at him for something similar a few weeks back. Benjamin apparently was a baby prone to being sick, and Peter learned the hard way that throwing him in the air was _not_ a good idea immediately after a feeding . . . it was something of a turn-off to find a hidden chunk of baby vomit in his hair later that night.

There was a noise from across the roof as Batroc struggled to eavesdrop on them, as he sought to find out what was so funny, but nothing could be heard at the distance where he was tied up. Peter fought away the smile he wore, as he looked across the city towards the light of Stark Tower in the distance. He wondered whether all parents had the same experiences, just as whether all couples felt the same frustrations, and he tried to think back to stories that his aunt told and Preston recited, but he also thought to the pressures couples like Pepper and Tony felt . . . pressures that tore them apart. Still, there was just _one_ question that bothered him at that moment, which he couldn’t help but ask.

“Okay _, how?_ Just _. . . how_?”

 _‘Benji and I read Ellie her bedtime story,’_ said Wade. _‘Then I took Benji for his bath! He pooped in the bath, so I lifted him out, only he made that face . . . you know . . . that one where you aren’t sure if he’s going to burp or poop or burst into song? I figured he was just going to burp, so I lifted him up high to try and climb out the bath, only I looked up right as he took a dump in the air! My mouth was open and everything!’_

“Well, he was a little constipated the past couple of days,” replied Peter. “Just be glad that the medicine worked and he’s finally unblocked himself. Just dry him off and put him to bed, if he doesn’t sleep then rest him on your chest. Did you clean the poop out the bath?”

_‘That’s all you care about? Whether I left the poop there? Dude, it was in my mouth!’_

“Hey, I have to bathe in that bath, too, you know!”

 _‘You have to_ kiss _this mouth, too!’_

Peter blushed brightly. He glared at his device and then looked to Ava, who was clearly raising an eyebrow and smiling behind her mask, and Peter was forced to draw in a deep breath and bite his lip to refrain from yelling at Wade. It wasn’t that their intimacy and respect for one another was secret, but . . . there was just something a little inappropriate for his team-mate and friend to hear about how he spent time _kissing_ Wade, even if it was something of an open secret at that point. Peter sighed and shook his head.

“Okay, I’m hanging up,” said Peter.

_‘Wait! Wait! . . . pick me up some Mexican on the way home?’_

“Order some to -! You know what, _bye_!”

He slammed his hand on the device to turn it off, whilst Ava burst out laughing one more time and actually bent over, as if it were so impossible to contain her laughter that it was no longer possible to stand. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a part of him that half-expected to return home to a lounge filled with takeout boxes, soiled nappies all over the bathroom, and a lovely piece of poop still in the bathtub for him to move. No doubt – after he tidied up the mess – Wade would be asleep with Benjamin on his chest in the bedroom.

It felt strange to be in such a routine with another man. Peter now worked as a teacher in high school, as he moonlighted as Spider-Man, whilst Wade worked freelance for S.H.I.E.L.D. and tried to father his children as best as he could. Chores were shared less equally than they ought, whilst Wade hovered over the children almost obsessively, which annoyed Ellie sometimes, although Peter had the sneaking suspicion the young girl loved the attention, especially when he caught her making a Christmas stocking just for Wade and filling it with treats only for him. Peter never had siblings growing up . . . no parents either, save for his aunt and uncle . . . this was something he treasured. He loved his family.

“You guys are a cute couple,” said Ava.

“We’re – we’re not a couple. I – I’m not even gay.”

“Well, _duh_. I see the way you check me out, nearly as much as you check out Daredevil. You know there’s this little thing called bisexuality? You have to check facts, Spidey. You’re _living_ with the father of your son in his house . . . are you sleeping with him?”

“W-what? I – I – I’m not answering that! I – you – why would -?”

“Sam says you had a hickey last week.”

The little spark of anger he felt was hard to quell. There were times where he _really_ wished that MJ picked another boyfriend, but it was true that Sam was a good guy at least. Still, it annoyed him that his healing-factor was so much slower than Wade’s, because – otherwise – it would have been _Wade_ being the one gossiped about. Peter raised a hand to his neck and brushed at the spandex there, as he gently prodded the bruise on his skin, and he gave a sigh and decided that it would be best to opt for honesty . . . he had no reason to be ashamed.

“We’re sleeping together. Exclusively.”

“Dude, I so called it!”

Ava clapped a hand on his shoulder, which caused him to lurch forward just slightly, even as he heard her let of a slight snort of laughter. It was frustrating to think that his personal life was of such interest to his friends, but – well – there were worse things that could be said about him, especially when Wade was actually a pretty amazing partner, even if a lot of people would never have believed it. Peter let out a long sigh, where a small cloud appeared before his mouth in the air, and he shrugged at Ava with a smile.

“I – I was thinking of asking him on a date.”

“Really?” Ava asked. “I doubt he’s going to say ‘no’ now. Go for it.”

“I – I know, but I’m still nervous! Wade’s been an amazing father to Ellie and Benjamin, plus – when you get to know him – there’s a _really_ deep side to him that I think most people miss, and you wouldn’t believe how much he works out . . . disciplined, too, in his way.”

“It sounds like you really have feelings for him.”

“I do . . . I love him.”

He looked away nervously, as he felt Ava look at him. It was as if she were analysing him in a way he didn’t quite like, although she was smiling sincerely behind the mask, and she brushed a long lock of hair out of her face in the process. Peter blushed and lowered his hands to grab his upper arms, whilst he kicked awkwardly at the roof. It was a long moment later when Ava looked to Batroc and gave a heaving sigh, before she shrugged at him and waved her hand in the air in an almost dismissive manner.

“I got this, Spidey. You go get that date.”

Peter smiled warmly and felt a great deal of gratitude towards Ava, as he thanked her quickly and used his webbing to move his way across the city. It was strange to think that the world could see his feelings for Wade before he could, but he knew there was still time to make things official and to put things right, and – as he got ever closer to their shared home – he realised one thing that he couldn’t deny any longer:

He loved Wade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do admit I'm sad to see the story end . . . 
> 
> It was a lot of fun to write, but - bright side - I have a sequel in mind. 
> 
> It's roughly six-chapters according to the current plan, which will focus primarily upon Benjamin, and hopefully I'll have the first chapter up in a few weeks (so feel free to bookmark the series to keep updated)! I may do a one-shot or one-shot collection after that, to fill any requests people may have, but the sequel should be fulfilling in its own right :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support :) 
> 
> I really appreciate every kudos, comment and bookmark :) It means a lot and was very inspiring to hear from you all during the story's progress :) I hope you all enjoyed it!


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